SIX    MONTHS    IN    ITALY. 


SIX     MONTHS 


ITALY 


BY 


GEORGE     STILLMAN    HILLARD, 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 


VOL.  II. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,  REED,  AND  FIELDS. 

MDCCC  LIII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1853,  by 

GEORGE    S.   HILLARD,  • 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


THUR8TOS,  TORRY,   AND    EMERSON,  PRINTERS. 


TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 

VOL.  H. 


THE  ROMAN  NUMERALS   ON   THE   LEFT  REFER  TO  THE   CHAPTERS. 


I.  Carnival  in  Rome  ...  1 

II.  General  Aspect  of  Rome  .  17 
Piazza  del  Popolo    ...  29 
Piazza  di  Spagna         ...      .  31 
Monte  Pincio  ....  38 
Piazza  Navona    ...  45 
Ghetto 47 

HI.  Campagna       ...  53 

Appian  Way   ....  61 

Torre  di  Schiavi  ...  66 

Walks  in  the  Campagna  .        .  68 

IV.  Agriculture  of  the  Uampagna  72 

V.  Journey  from  Rome  to  Naples  100 

NAPLES 105 

Museum       ....  110 
Collection  from  Ilerculaneum 

and  Pompeii         .        .        .111 

Paintings     .        .        .        .  115 

Bronzes 117 

Works  in  Marble        .       .  119 
Picture  Gallery       .       .        .123 

VI.  Excursion  to  Pompeii       .  125 
Camaldoli  Convent         .        .  141 
Ascent  of  Vesuvius      .        .  144 

VII.  Excursion  to  Sorrento        .  154 
Villa  Reale  .        .       .       .  164 
Grotto  of  Posilippo         .        .  165 
Tomb  of  Virgil     ...  166 
Excursion  to  Baiaa  ...  167 
Campo  Santo       .        .        .  170 
San  Carlo  Theatre  .       .       .171 

VIII.  Characteristics  of  Naples  173 


Page 

Rome  and  Naples  compared  177 

Return  to  Rome      .        .  .     184 

Illumination  of  St.  Peter's  .  188 

IX.  Excursion  to  Frascati  .    192 
Villa  Conti  ....  195 

"  Aldobrandini  .  .  .  197 
"  Muti  ....  199 
Grotta  Ferrata  .  .  .201 
Marino  ....  202 
Alban  Lake  ....  203 
Excursion  to  Tivoli  .  .  205 
Hadrian's  Villa  .  .  .207 

Tivoli 211 

Villa  d'Este     .        .        .        .219 

X.  Population    of    the    Alban 

Mount  compared  with  that 

of  New  England         .        .  220 

Amusements         .        .        .  223 

Popular  Literature  .        .        .  229 

General  Characteristics       .  237 

Lotteries 240 

XI.  Artists  hi  Rome       .       .  248 
Overbeck         .        .        .        .251 
Crawford      .        .        .        .  260 

XII.  English  in  Italy          .        .    266 
Steeple  Chase  on  the  Campagna  275 

XIII.  Houses  in  Rome       .        .  280 
Inhabitants  of  Rome  .        .  283 
Site  and  Climate  of  Rome        .  285 
Malaria        ....  290 
Noble  Families  of  Rome         .  295 
Tragical  Story  of  the  Savelli 

Family         .        .        .        .299 


XIV.  Last  days  in  Rome         .  306 
Borne  to  Perugia     .        .        .  307 
Falls  of  Terni       ...  313 
San  Gemini      ....  314 
PEKUGIA       ....  318 
Pietro  Perugino       .        .        .  318 
Raphael's  first  Fresco         .  321 
Staffa  Madonna       .        .        .  322 
Insane  Hospital  .        .        .  323  I 
Etruscan  Tomb       .        .        .  324 
St.  Francis    .        ...  326 
Church  and  Convent  at  Assissi  329 
Perugia  to  Florence         .        •  332 

LUCCA 335 

GENOA 341 

XV.  Travellers   in    Italy  and 
Writers  upon  Italy    .        •  348 

Pilgrimages ....  348 
Petrarch          .        .        .        .351 

Poggio  Bracciolini        .        .  353 

Luther 353 

Montaigne    ....  355 

Shakespeare    ....  359 

Ascham        .       .        .        .  361 


Milton     .... 
Evelyn         . 
Addison  .... 
Gray 

XVI.  Smollett     . 

Dr.  Moore  .       .       . 

Goethe     .... 
Chateaubriand     .        . 
Forsytb.  .... 
Madame  de  Stael 

XVII.  Eustace    . 
Matthews  .        . 
Lady  Morgan  . 

Shelley         . 
Lord  Byron 
Rogers  . 

Miss  Eaton 

Bell 

Rose        . 
Andersen     . 
Mrs.  Kemble  . 
Spalding  . 

Murray    .... 
XXIII.  Concluding  Remarks 


362 
365 
368 
371 
374 
378 
383 
393 
399 
404 
410 
415 
416 
422 
428 
437 
439 
439 
440 
440 
443 
446 
447 
449 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    CARNIVAL    IN    ROME. 

THE  Duke  of  Wellington  was  once  asked  which  was 
the  best  description  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  in 
the  course  of  his  reply  he  said,  that  it  was  impossible 
to  describe  a  battle  :  each  person  could  recall  and  re- 
late the  incidents  in  which  he  himself  took  part,  but 
nothing  more  :  whatever  was  beyond  his  own  observa- 
tion could  make  no  impression  on  the  memory.  This 
remark  applies  with  more  or  less  force  to  every  thing 
which  comprises  the  elements  of  time  and  movement. 
A  picture  or  a  bas-relief  may  be  described  distinctly 
and  perfectly ;  but  a  series  of  actions,  only  in  detail, 
by  parcels,  and  more  or  less  imperfectly.  A  land- 
scape may  be  painted  with  the  most  minute  fidelity, 
but  no  eye  can  catch,  no  memory  retain,  the  succes- 
sive and  fleeting  impressions  made  upon  it  by  a  violent 
storm. 

This  is  especially  true  of  the  gay  movements  and 
genial  frolic  of  a  Roman  Carnival ;  every  description 
of  which  must  needs  be  unsatisfactoiy  to  those  who 
never  witnessed  it,  and  disappointing  to  those  who 
have.  Each  one  who  sees  or  takes  part  in  this  festive 

VOL.  n.  1 


A  THE    CARNIVAL    IN    ROME. 

hurly-burly  can  recount  what  he  observed  or  what  he 
did,  but  he  cannot  paint  to  the  readers  the  moving 
panorama,  which  is  ever  changing,  yet  ever  the  same. 
He  can  tell  of  quaint  disguises,  of  voluble  speech,  of 
rapid  gestures,  of  showers  of  bouquets,  and  a  steady 
rain  of  sugar-plums,  of  streets  gorgeous  as  an  autumn 
wood  with  hanging  tapestry,  and  of  balconies  filled 
with  women  wearing  their  gayest  gowns  and  their 
brightest  smiles ;  but  he  cannot  transfer  to  his  page 
the  atmosphere  of  frolic  which  hangs  over  all,  inter- 
prets all,  and  reconciles  all  —  to  which  each  contributes 
his  part,  while  all  feet  and  share  its  electric  influence. 

'  The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore 


I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home  ; 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 

Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore 

With  the  sun  and  the  sand  and  the  wild  uproar.' 

EMERSON. 

To  judge  fairly  of  a  Roman  Carnival,  we  must  view 
it  in  connection  with  the  prevailing  tastes,  the  ordinary 
amusements,  and  every-day  life  of  the  Roman  people ; 
and  inquire  into  the  causes  which  have  made  it,  here, 
so  much  more  an  absorbing  and  characteristic  a  spec- 
tacle than  in  other  Catholic  capitals.  The  taste  of  the 
populace  of  Rome  has  been  in  some  degree  formed 
by  those  splendid  and  imposing  ceremonials  of  the 
church  with  which  they  have  been  so  long  familiar ; 
by  the  gilding  and  marble  of  their  churches,  the  rich 
vestments  of  the  clergy,  the  clouds  of  incense  curling 
up  from  censers  of  silver,  and  all  the  other  shows  and 


THE    CARNIVAL   IN   ROME.  3 

pomps  of  their  worship.  They  delight  in  '  the  pride  of 
the  eye.'  On  all  holiday  occasions  they  hang  out  from 
their  windows  strips  of  bright-colored  cloth.  They  take 
great  pleasure  in  illuminations,  torch-light  processions, 
and,  especially,  in  fire-works,  which  are  no  where  seen 
in  such  perfection  as  in  Rome.  Even  death  itself  is 
not  exempt  from  the  influence  of  this  ruling  passion. 
The  funerals  of  distinguished  persons  take  place  at 
night,  are  illumined  by  the  blaze  of  torches,  and 
attended  by  solemn  music  and  trains  of  ecclesiastics. 
Thus,  the  Carnival  is  linked  by  natural  laws  to  the 
remaining  portions  of  the  year.  It  is  merely  the  an- 
nual flowering  of  that  taste  which  is  always  in  leaf. 

Something  is  also  to  be  ascribed  to  the  peculiarity 
of  the  place  —  the  Corso  and  the  streets  immediately 
adjoining  —  to  which  the  show  is  confined.  The  Corso 
is  about  a  mile  long,  but  disproportionately  narrow  — 
being  on  an  average  only  about  thirty-five  feet  broad 
—  and  bordered  by  lofty  houses,  nearly  all  of  which 
are  furnished  with  projecting  balconies,  constructed 
with  especial  reference  to  this  spectacle.  When  apart- 
ments are  let  in  this  street  for  the  season,  the  period  of 
Carnival  is  not  included,  except  by  a  special  agree- 
ment, and  for  an  additional  consideration.  Tempo- 
rary structures  of  wood  are  usually  put  up,  where 
permanent  balconies  are  wanting.  Thus,  the  already 
narrow  space  between  the  houses  is  abridged  by  these 
unglazed  oriels  and  projections,  and  the  persons  oc- 
cupying them  are  brought  within  speaking,  or,  at  least, 
communicating  distance ;  near  enough  to  interchange 
bouquets,  sugar-plums,  and  smiles  of  greeting.  And  as 
the  street  between  is  densely  filled  with  carriages  and 


4  THE    CARNIVAL   IN   ROME. 

foot-passengers,  the  chain  of  magnetic  influence  is  un- 
broken. All  are  brought  so  near  together  as  to  act 
and  re-act  upon  each  other;  and  the  eifect  of  a  crowd- 
ed in-door  audience  is  produced  in  the  open  air.  Were 
the  Corso  as  wide  as  Broadway,  one  half  of  the  mirth 
and  movement  of  the  Carnival  would  vanish  ;  and  that 
essential  spirit  which  is  now  preserved  by  compression, 
would  evaporate. 

The  Roman  Carnival  extends  over  the  eleven  days 
which  immediately  precede  Ash  Wednesday,  though 
only  eight  days  are  actually  given  up  to  its  gaieties ; 
the  two  Sundays  and  Friday  being  put  under  the 
shadow  of  the  church.  Nor  does  the  sport  last  through 
the  whole  of  each  day,  but  only  from  about  two  o'clock 
till  dark,  in  the  short  days  of  February ;  so  that  the 
Romans,  even  in  their  hours  of  license,  feel  the  truth 
of  Hesiod's  saying,  that  the  half  is  more  than  the 
whole,  and  know  that  fine  flavors  can  only  be  pre- 
served by  abstaining  from  deep  draughts.  The  course 
of  each  day  is  substantially  the  same,  except  that  the 
uproar  goes  on  with  an  increasing  impulse,  as  the  end 
draws  near.  The  reader  will  then  have  the  goodness 
to  walk  with  me  into  the  Corso,  at  about  half  past  two 
on  a  Carnival  day,  and  follow  with  the  mind's  eye  the 
sketch  of  the  moving  scene  which  I  shall  attempt  to 
draw ;  and  in  this,  our  airy  substance,  we  can  pene- 
trate to  the  heart  of  the  crowd  much  more  easily  than 
if  we  were  making  the  effort  in  our  proper  material 
persons. 

First  of  all,  the  aspect  of  the  long  and  narrow  street 
draws  the  admiring  eye.  The  usually  rather  common- 
place and  unexpressive  fronts  of  the  houses  have  sud- 


THE.  CARNIVAL    IN    ROME.  5 

denly  put  on  a  life  and  bloom,  like  that  which  a  mass 
of  multiflora  in  full  flower  gives  to  a  dead  wall.  Gay 
streamers,  of  red,  yellow,  and  blue,  flutter  in  the 
breeze,  and  heavier  pieces  of  the  same  vivid  colors 
hang  from  the  windows  in  such  numbers,  that  to  a  fan- 
ciful mind  it  looks  as  if  a  rainbow  had  fallen  from  the 
sky,  and  its  shattered  fragments  been  caught  and 
arrested  ere  they  reached  the  earth.  Far  as  the  eye 
can  pierce,  the  balconies  are  crowded  with  spectators, 
of  whom  a  larger  proportion  are  gaily  dressed  women ; 
some  with  beautiful,  and  all  with  animated  faces,  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  the  scene  and  not  unwilling  to  be 
admired.  The  street  below  is  filled  by  two  rows  of 
carriages  slowly  moving  in  opposite  directions,  and 
filled  with  gay  occupants,  and  by  a  motley  crowd  of 
foot-passengers,  composed  principally  but  not  exclu- 
sively, of  men  and  boys,  some  with  masks  and  some 
without.  All  this  concourse  comprising  every  rank  in 
life,  from  an  adventurous  English  nobleman  to  the 
lowest  ragamuffins  in  Rome,  and  engaged  more  or 
less  actively  in  one  common  occupation,  that  of  pelting 
one  another  with  various  kinds  of  missiles ;  so  that  the 
air  is  quite  filled  with  the  harmless  ammunition  of  their 
mock  warfare. 

These  missiles  are  of  three  classes  —  rejecting  all 
minor  subdivisions  as  unworthy  of  the  dignity  of  history 
—  these  three  are  flowers,  bon-bons  or  sugar-plums,  and 
confetti.  For  many  days  before  the  Carnival  begins, 
flowers  are  brought  into  Rome  from  the  neighboring 
country ;  and  the  stock  on  hand  to  respond  to  the  uni- 
versal demand,  seems  boundless.  They  are  so  ar- 
ranged as  to  meet  the  various  capacities  of  purse  or 


6  THE   CARNIVAL    IN    ROME. 

the  higher  or  lower  points  of  profusion  ;  the  scale  of 
choice  ranging  from  costly  bouquets  of  the  delicate  and 
fragrant  products  of  the  conservatory,  to  little  branches 
of  wild  flowers,  the  natural  growth  of  the  Campagna, 
of  which  a  large  basket-full  may  be  bought  for  a  few 
baiocchi.  They  are,  as  with  us  on  the  eve  of  a  ball,  a 
graceful  and  permitted  attention  which  might  be  too 
marked,  if  proffered  on  other  occasions ;  and  there 
as  here,  a  sharp  eye  may  draw  auguries  of  hope  or 
fear  from  the  manner  in  which  they  are  received  and 
acknowledged.  The  instinctive  and  universal  taste  of 
mankind  selects  flowers  for  the  expression  of  its  finest 
sympathies,  their  beauty  and  their  fleetingness  serving 
to  make  them  the  most  fitting  symbols  of  those  delicate 
sentiments  for  which  language  itself  seems  almost  too 
gross  a  medium.  In  some  instances,  these  Carnival 
bouquets  are  crowned  with  a  living  bird  whose  legs  and 
wings  are  imprisoned  in  flowery  bands,  and  whose 
drooping  head  wears  a  forlorn  expression  of  surprise 
and  terror,  awakening  a  feeling  not  in  unison  with  the 
mood  of  the  hour. 

As  the  sugar-plums  are  good  to  eat,  they  have  a 
homely  savor  of  utility  and  fall  short  of  the  ethereal 
expressiveness  of  flowers ;  but  as  tributes,  they  are 
valued  by  young  and  old;  especially  when  tastefully 
enclosed  in  pretty  boxes  and  cones  of  gilded  paper, 
bearing  likenesses  of  damsels  with  pink  cheeks  and 
invisible  mouths.  Of  the  cheaper  sort,  a  considerable 
proportion  falls  upon  the  pavement  and  is  eagerly 
scrambled  for  by  the  ingenuous  youth  of  Rome,  who 
dart  in  and  out  under  the  wheels  of  carriages  and  the 
hoofs  of  horses,  with  a  courage  worthy  of  a  better 
cause. 


THE    CARNIVAL    IN    ROME.  7 

The  third  class  of  missiles  —  the  confetti — are  bits 
of  lime,  of  which  the  average  size  is  about  that  of  a 
well-grown  pea,  forming  quite  a  serious  weapon  of 
attack.  Indeed,  discreet  persons,  who  mean  to  go 
through  the  thick  and  thin  of  a  Carnival,  protect  their 
faces  by  masks  of  wire  against  assaults  which  might 
otherwise  do  lasting  harm,  especially  to  the  eyes. 
They  are  sometimes  thrown  by  the  hand  and  some- 
times skilfully  ejaculated  through  a  tin  tube.  When  a 
quantity  of  them  is  forcibly  and  unexpectedly  hurled 
into  the  unprotected  face,  the  first  sensation  is  as  if  the 
points  of  a  thousand  needles  had  been  suddenly  shot 
into  the  skin  ;  and  then  a  cloud  of  darkness  settles 
down  upon  the  eyes  which  gradually  passes  off  in  a 
rain  of  tears ;  leaving  the  sufferer,  if  of  an  irritable 
temper,  much  disposed  to  '  pitch  into '  somebody. 
Foreigners,  the  English  especially,  are  said  to  abuse 
this  privilege  of  the  confetti.  The  Italians,  whose  tem- 
perament allows  only  a  short  transition  from  gentle 
courtesy  to  fiery  excitement  and  the  drawing  of  knives, 
and  who  do  not  understand  the  good-humored  horse- 
play of  rougher  nations,  rarely  use  them. 

The  most  animated  contests  with  these  different 
missiles  take  place  where  two  carriages,  occupied  by 
young  persons  of  different  sexes,  are  detained  oppo- 
site to  each  other  by  a  general  lock ;  or  under  a 
balcony  which  sparkles  with  more  than  an  average 
proportion  of  beauty.  On  these  occasions,  and  at  these 
points,  the  air  is  darkened  with  sugar-plums  and  flow- 
ers, the  ladies  receiving  them  gracefully  as  a  just 
tribute  that  conquerors  do  not  return.  The  confetti,  be 
it  observed,  with  persons  of  good  taste,  are  never  used 
except  in  masculine  encounters. 


THE   CARNIVAL   IN    ROME. 

Of  the  mass  which  elbow  one  another  through  the 
crowded  streets,  the  greater  part  are  in  their  ordinary 
garb  ;  though  disguises  are  common  enough  not  to  at- 
tract any  particular  attention.  Among  the  most  usual 
masks  are  punchinellos  with  portentous  noses  and  pro- 
tuberant waistcoats  ;  harlequins  in  striped  costume  and 
daggers  of  pasteboard  ;  quack  doctors  with  ludicrous 
nostrums  for  all  sorts  of  diseases  ;  and  advocates  in 
gowns  and  wigs,  that  threaten  the  passers-by  with  in- 
dictments for  a  thousand  fanciful  crimes.  Many  of  the 
masks  carry  an  inflated  bladder  at  the  end  of  a  stick, 
with  which  they  strike  most  resonant  blows  to  the  right 
and  left  —  a  form  of  practical  joke  which  never  seemed 
to  lose  its  point,  nor  failed  to  call  forth  peals  of  laughter. 
Many  of  the  women  appeared  in  male  attire,  partially 
or  entirely  ;  a  style  to  be  ascribed  more  to  convenience 
of  locomotion  in  such  a  crowd  than  to  any  innate  pro- 
pensity of  the  sex  to  assume  what  does  not  belong  to 
them.  At  any  rate,  the  change  was  a  sacrifice,  for  the 
feet  and  ancles  of  the  Roman  women  are  made  for  use 
and  not  for  show.  Some  persons  simply  draw  over 
their  common  garb  a  dress  of  coarse  white  cotton, 
adopted  as  much  by  way  of  protection  against  the  lime 
of  the  confetti,  as  for  a  disguise.  When  to  this  attire 
a  white  mask  is  superadded,  the  wearer  looks  like  the 
ghost  of  a  miller  walking  abroad  at  noon-day.  I 
remember  one  adventurous  person  who  presented  a 
tolerable  impersonation  of  a  green  monkey. 

In  the  carriages  which  pass  in  a  straight  line  up  and 
down  the  Corso,  there  is  such  a  variety  as  to  form  by 
themselves  an  entertaining  spectacle.  Many  of  them 
are  the  common  equipages  usually  seen  in  the  streets, 


THE    CARNIVAL   IN   ROME. 

containing  grave  or  elderly  personages  who  come  sim- 
ply to  look  on  and  not  to  take  part.  There  are  also 
many  which  are  rigged  out  especially  for  the  occasion, 
consisting  of  an  open  frame-work,  resting  upon  wheels, 
rudely  and  hastily  put  together,  but  successful  in  the 
general  effect.  Sometimes  they  are  contrived  to  re- 
semble a  ship,  sometimes,  a  moving  forest ;  and  in  all 
cases,  the  decorations  and  the  garb  of  the  occupants  are 
in  what  Tony  Lumpkin  calls  '  a  concatenation  accord- 
ingly,' so  that  the  sense  of  congruity  is  not  disturbed. 
In  carriages  of  this  class  very  elaborate  and  effective 
costumes  may  sometimes  be  seen.  I  recall  two  young 
ladies  in  rich  Albanian  dresses,  who  attracted  much  at- 
tention ;  and  also  a  party  of  young  men  in  the  velvet 
doublets  and  feathered  hats  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's 
time.  The  coachmen  appear  in  some  fantastic  and 
extravagant  garb,  their  horses  garnished  with  flowers 
and  ribbons  ;  the  great  object  being  to  attract  notice. 

There  are  three  modes  of  seeing  and  sharing  in  the 
festivities  of  the  Carnival :  one  is  to  look  at  the  scene 
from  a  window  or  a  balcony  :  another,  to  ride  up  and 
down  the  Corso  in  an  open  carriage  :  and  the  third, 
from  which  ladies  are  debarred,  is  to  mingle  with  the 
crowd  in  the  street.  An  adventurous  young  man  will 
probably  make  experiment  of  all.  To  be  merely  a 
passive  spectator  soon  wearies  the  eye,  and  if  in  a 
cynical  humor,  provokes  a  critical  spirit  and  a  wonder 
that  men  and  women  can  behave  so  like  boys  and  girls. 
To  rough  it  in  the  street  requires  a  stout  frame  and 
nimble  feet.  The  carriage  is  the  best  medium,  making 
the  occupant  at  once  an  actor  and  a  spectator.  It  is 
quite  curious  to  remark  how  a  fastidious  dignity  melts 


10  THE   CARNIVAL    IN    ROME. 

away  under  the  contagious  influence  of  the  general  riot : 
to  see  how  soon  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  who  gets 
into  the  carriage  with  a  sheepish  air  of  self-reproach 
and  a  look  of  intense  self-consciousness,  abandons 
himself  to  the  genius  of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  is 
seen  throwing  confetti  and  bouquets  with  all  the  ardor 
of  twenty.  Between  taking  a  part  and  merely  looking 
on,  there  is  the  same  difference  as  between  dancing 
and  seeing  others  dance.  The  mob,  gentle  or  simple, 
seems  uniformly  good-humored,  though  sometimes  a 
little  self-command  %must  be  exerted  in  order  to  main- 
tain this  genial  mood.  A  handful  of  confetti  is  sud- 
denly slapped  into  your  face,  bringing  a  vision  of  ten 
thousand  dancing  stars  before  your  eyes  —  or  as  your 
hand  hangs  listlessly  for  a  moment  over  the  side  of  the 
carriage  with  a  choice  bouquet  in  it,  for  which  you 
have  a  particular  destination  in  your  mind  or  heart,  a 
cunning  varlet  snatches  it  from  your  grasp  and  disap- 
pears in  a  twinkling  —  all  this  must  be  taken  as  a  part 
of  the  fun,  and  endured  with  a  smiling  composure. 
Many  shafts  and  sallies  of  verbal  wit  pass  to  and  fro 
among  the  Italians  which  are  lost  to  the  foreign  ear. 
On  one  occasion,  when  riding  in  the  Corso  with  a  young 
friend,  whose  blooming  complexion  and  light  hair, 
joined  to  an  expression  at  once  frank  and  fine,  made 
him  an  attractive  image  of  Saxon  beauty,  we  were  met 
by  a  carriage  moving  in  an  opposite  direction,  in  which 
was  a  lively  Italian  girl,  her  dark  eyes  running  over 
with  frolic  and  mischief,  who,  when  she  saw  my  com- 
panion, threw  a  bouquet  at  him,  calling  out  at  the  same 
time,  in  a  loud  and  laughter-broken  voice,  '  Beefsteak 
et  pomme  de  terre,'  a  phrase  by  which  the  English  are 
known  all  over  the  continent. 


THE    CARNIVAL   IN   ROME.  ll 

Nowhere  does  beauty  find  a  more  marked  or  more 
abundant  homage  than  in  a  Roman  Carnival.  The 
Italians,  with  their  vivid  temperament  and  susceptible 
organization,  are  quick  to  detect  its  presence,  and  ex- 
pressive in  the  acknowledgment  of  its  claims.  A  fine 
countenance  gathers  a  harvest  of  applause,  and  brings 
round  its  owner  a  shower  of  substantial  tokens  of  admi- 
ration. In  looking  down  the  Corso,  wherever  a  denser 
crowd  is  seen  gathered  together,  wherever  a  brisker 
fire  of  flowers  and  sugar-plums  is  observed  to  be  going 
on,  one  may  be  sure  that  the  cynosure  is  a  beautiful 
face  that  beams  from  a  neighboring  balcony.  Our  own 
fair  countrywomen  had,  at  least,  their  full  share  of  the 
general  tribute.  Two  lovely  sisters  in  particular,  one 
of  whom,  from  the  rare  combination  of  blonde  hair  and 
dark  eyes,  was  an  object  of  much  admiration  to  the 
Italians,  were  almost  the  belles  of  the  Corso ;  and  one 
of  the  pleasures  of  each  day  was  to  witness  the  spark- 
ling triumph  with  which  they  shewed  the  various  offer- 
ings which  had  been  laid  at  their  feet. 

I  noticed  in  the  hands  of  some  of  the  young  men  on 
foot,  a  curious  contrivance  for  the  transmission  of  flow- 
ers to  the  upper  windows.  It  is  a  sort  of  frame-work 
of  wooden  slats  turning  upon  pivots.  When  folded  to- 
gether and  lying  horizontally,  they  occupy  but  little 
space,  but  by  a  sudden  movement  they  can  be  elon- 
gated some  fifteen  or  twenty  feet,  darting  up  into  the  air 
like  a  rocket.  A  bouquet,  fastened  to  the  end  of  this, 
and  held  in  a  firm  grasp,  thus  mounted  in  safety,  and 
reached  the  very  hand  for  which  it  was  predestined. 

And  thus  the  merry-making  goes  on  till  about  five 
o'clock,  when  preparations  begin  for  the  running  of  the 


12  THE    CARNIVAL    IN    ROME. 

horses.  Mounted  dragoons  appear  in  the  Corso,  and 
the  carriages  one  by  one  diverge  into  the  neighboring 
streets  on  the  right  and  left ;  and  in  a  short  time  all 
disappear,  and  foot-passengers  alone  are  left.  A  de- 
tachment of  cavalry  moves  slowly  down  the  Corso  and 
returns  on  a  brisk  trot.  In  the  mean  time,  the  horses 
which  are  to  run,  have  been  brought  to  the  starting- 
point  in  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  and  are  rearing  and 
snorting  with  impatience  to  be  let  go.  A  temporary 
semicircular  range  of  seats  has  been  previously  erected 
in  the  Piazza,  looking  down  into  the  Corso  ;  and  just  in 
front  of  these  seats  is  the  barrier,  behind  which  the 
horses  are  ranged.  Each  horse  is  led  up  by  a  shewily 
dressed  groom,  who  stands  at  his  head  till  the  signal  for 
starting  is  given.  The  impatient  animals  rear  and 
plunge,  and  the  struggles  which  ensue  between  them 
and  their  keepers,  often  graceful  and  vigorous  young 
men,  lead  to  fine  exhibitions  of  human,  as  well  as  ani- 
mal power.  Accidents  sometimes  occur,  especially 
when  the  number  of  horses  is  large,  as  the  space  in 
which  they  are  crowded  is  only  of  moderate  extent. 
The  signal  is  at  last  given,  the  confining  rope  falls,  and 
the  horses  bound  forth,  swallowing  the  ground  with 
fiery  leaps.  They  rush  down  the  narrow  Corso,  the 
people  opening  a  passage  for  them  like  waves  before 
the  keel  of  a  ship,  and  then  closing  up  behind  them. 
When  I  first  witnessed  this  plunging  of  these  spirited 
creatures  into  a  thronged  street,  it  seemed  to  me  a 
perilous  sport,  and  I  asked  if  accidents  never  occurred, 
and  was  told  that  they  never  did  ;  but  the  question 
seemed  to  be  prophetic,  for  on  that  very  day  one  man 
was  killed  outright,  and  two  or  three  were  wounded. 


THE   CARNIVAL    IN    ROME.  13 

The  horses  ran  without  riders.  They  are  goaded 
on  in  their  course  by  leaden  balls,  into  which  sharp 
points  are  inserted,  and  so  hung  upon  their  backs 
as  to  pierce  them  with  every  movement.  They  run 
the  length  of  the  Corso  and  are  brought  up  at  the 
Piazza  Veneziana,  where  a  temporary  seat  is  erected 
for  the  judges  who  award  the  prizes.  The  horses  are 
a  light-limbed  and  spirited  breed  of  animals,  but  they 
have  little  opportunity  to  shew  their  real  qualities  of 
speed  or  endurance  in  a  race  of  this  kind.  From  the 
narrowness  of  the  street,  also,  an  unfair  advantage  is 
given  to  the  one  or  two  that  get  the  start  at  the  begin- 
ning, which  lessens  the  interest  in  the  result.  Goethe, 
who  was  in  Rome  in  1788,  says,  that  at  that  time  car- 
riages were  not  driven  out  of  the  Corso  before  the  run- 
ning of  the  horses,  but  were  merely  drawn  up  in  a  line 
on  each  side,  leaving  only  the  narrow  space  between 
them  for  the  race-course ;  and  that  sometimes  the 
horses  would  dash  against  the  wheel  of  a  carriage  with 
such  force  as  to  kill  themselves. 

With  the  running  of  the  horses,  the  out-of-door 
amusements  of  the  Carnival  cease.  The  crowd  in  the 
Corso  disperses,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  streets  are 
restored  to  their  usual  quiet  and  silence.  In  the  even- 
ing, there  are  various  social  entertainments,  and  com- 
monly a  masked  ball  at  some  one  of  the  theatres. 

Such,  substantially,  was  the  Carnival  of  1848  as  it 
dwells  in  my  memory.  I  confess  that  before  the  eight 
days  were  over,  it  began  to  grow  wearisome.  It  was 
like  a  Christmas  pantomime  acted  by  daylight.  There 
were,  however,  some  adverse  elements  at  work  which 
impaired  the  effect,  and  threw  a  dispiriting  influence 


14  THE    CARXIVAL    IN    ROME. 

over  the  whole  proceeding.  The  weather  was  unfa- 
vorable, and  this  was  an  untoward  circumstance  which 
no  energy  of  resolve  could  entirely  overcome.  The 
sun  rarely  shone  during  the  whole  period,  and  the  only 
change  was  from  a  dull  gray  sky  to  a  drizzling  rain. 
For  such  raree-shows  the  presence  of  sunshine  is  indis- 
pensable. The  gay  colors  look  intrusive  and  imperti- 
nent under  a  monotonous  and  leaden  sky.  The 
mummers  and  maskers,  stumping  through  the  mud  and 
trying  to  ignore  the  rain,  reminded  one  of  a  flock  of 
peacocks  disconsolately  pacing  round  a  farm-yard  in 
an  easterly  storm  —  their  fine  feathers  draggling  in  the 
wet  or  plastered  to  their  sides  with  moisture.  In  this, 
as  in  so  many  other  instances,  our  daily  speech  express- 
es the  general  sense  of  mankind.  It  is  not  without 
reason  that  we  say  that  our  ardor  has  been  damped, 
and  that  cold  water  has  been  thrown  upon  our  zeal. 
All  out-of-door  amusements,  picnics,  water-parties, 
civic  processions,  military  reviews,  are  dreary  failures, 
unless  the  sun  looks  down  upon  them  with  a  benignant 
countenance. 

At  the  bottom,  there  was  no  great  amount  of  hearti- 
ness and  abandon,  and  a  good  deal  of  make-believe. 
There  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  this  state  of  feeling, 
in  the  political  excitement  at  that  time  so  rife  among 
the  Roman  people,  and  in  the  vague  and  glowing  hopes 
which  played  before  their  dazzled  eyes.  All  Italy,  it 
need  hardly  be  said,  was  at  that  time  in  a  feverish 
mood,  and  all  around  the  horizon,  dark  clouds  were 
gathering  in  the  heavens.  In  various  parts  of  the 
Lombardo-Venetian  kingdom,  collisions  had  taken 
place  between  the  citizens  and  the  Austrian  soldiers, 


THE    CARNIVAL    IN    ROME.  15 

in  which  many  persons  had  been  killed  and  wounded. 
In  consequence  of  these  transactions,  and  by  way  of 
sympathy  with  those  who  had  fallen,  the  people,  at  the 
suggestion  of  their  political  leaders,  gave  up  the  usual 
concluding  amusement  of  the  Carnival,  the  Moccoletti, 
in  which  every  person  carries  a  lighted  taper,  and  en- 
deavors to  protect  his  own  and  extinguish  that  of  his 
neighbor.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  entertainments  of 
the  Carnival  that  we  heard  of  the  French  revolution  of 
February,  1848,  an  event  which  broke  in  upon  the 
frivolous  piping  and  dancing,  like  the  crashing  stride  of 
an  earthquake.  After  this  astounding  intelligence,  it  was 
difficult  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  or  to  bar  the 
mind,  for  even  a  moment,  against  the  stern  realities  that 
knocked  for  admittance.  To  a  thoughtful  spirit,  aware 
of  the  pregnant  significance  of  this  outbreak  and  not 
least  of  all  to  the  Romans  themselves,  the  frisking  and 
capering  of  the  crowds  in  the  Corso  seemed  like  the 
dancing  of  a  parcel  of  monkeys  over  a  powder  maga- 
zine. It  is  evident  from  the  accounts  of  former  travel- 
lers, that  the  interest  and  animation  of  the  Carnival  are 
gradually  passing  away.  Indeed,  it  can  hardly  be  oth- 
erwise. Communities,  as  well  as  individuals,  have  their 
periods  of  youth,  manhood,  and  decay.  As  the  people 
of  Rome  grow  older  and  more  thoughtful,  as  the  sense 
of  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of  life  presses  upon 
them  more  heavily  —  especially  if  they  should  emanci- 
pate themselves  from  their  state  of  political  minority  — 
it  cannot  but  happen  that  the  inclination  towards  a  style 
of  amusement  so  essentially  boyish  must  pass  away. 
Tasso,  in  one  of  his  prose  writings,  says,  '  L'allegrezze 
sono  conform!  all'  eta  degli  uomini  siccome  i  frutti  alle 


16 


THE    CARNIVAL    IN    ROME. 


stagioni,  laonde  quel  che  diletta  alia  giovinezza  non 
suol  pjacere  all'  eta  matura  parimente.'  A  Carnival 
will  not  be  in  unison  with  the  ripened  taste  of  a  people 
that  have  reached  the  full  stature  of  moral  and  mental 
manhood.  Goethe  has  given  a  description  of  this 
amusement  as  he  saw  it  at  the  close  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, in  a  sketch  full  of  grace  and  spirit  —  written  in 
that  beautiful  and  transparent  prose  which  forms  not 
the  least  among  his  great  literary  merits  —  from  which 
the  reader  will  see  how  much  the  Roman  Carnival  has 
been  tamed  and  sobered  in  the  course  of  sixty  years. 
But  if  it  has  lost  in  vivacity,  it  has  gained  in  refinement 
and  decorum  :  the  better  taste  of  to-day  would  hardly 
tolerate  some  of  the  incidents  which  he  records. 


CHAPTER  II. 


General  Aspect  of  Rome  —  Piazza  del  Popolo  —  Piazza  di  Spagna — Monte 
Pincio  —  Piazza  Navona — The  Ghetto. 


GENERAL    ASPECT    OF    ROME. 

MODERN  Rome  presents  few  striking  architectural 
points  or  combinations.*  The  houses,  which  are  gen- 
erally stuccoed,  have  no  marked  character  ;  they  have 
commonplace  fronts  pierced  by  commonplace  windows ; 
looking  like  convenient  dwelling-places,  but  bare  of 

*  In  republican  and  imperial  Rome  the  heights  were  crowd- 
ed with  population,  but  the  low  plain  bordering  on  the  curve 
of  the  Tiber,  then  called  the  Campus  Martius,  was  an  open 
space,  used  for  public  assemblies  and  gymnastic  and  martial 
sports.  But  now  this  latter  region  is  the  most  densely  peopled 
part  of  Rome  ;  while  the  highlands  are  comparatively  de- 
serted. This  change  of  the  seat  of  population  was  probably 
determined,  in  a  great  measure,  by  the  nearness  of  the  river. 
The  ancient  aqueducts  were  mostly  all  destroyed,  or  abandoned 
to  neglect  and  decay,  during  the  dark  centuries  of  Rome.  The 
restoration  of  such  as  were  restored  was  comparatively  recent. 
For  many  generations,  a  large  part  of  the  inhabitants  could 
have  depended  only  on  such  sources  of  water  as  were  within 
the  walls.  On  this  account,  the  poorer  classes  would  naturally 
fix  their  habitations  as  near  as  possible  to  the  Tiber. 

VOL.  II.  2 


18  GENERAL   ASPECT    OF   ROME. 

memories  and  traditions.  In  walking  through  the  Corso 
or  the  streets  that  diverge  from  it  on  either  hand,  the 
eye  lights  upon  few  of  those  fine  pictures  in  stone, 
which  are  so  frequent  in  Bruges  or  Nuremburg. 
Though  some  of  the  palaces  can  boast  of  facades  of 
conspicuous  merit,  yet  many  present  upon  their  fronts 
palpable  indications  of  the  periods  of  bad  taste  in  which 
they  were  erected.  Indeed,  in  these  narrow  streets, 
grand  architecture  would  be  thrown  away.  In  the 
Corso,  the  sublime  mass  of  the  Riccardi  Palace  at 
Florence  would  look  like  a  line-of-battle  ship  anchored 
in  the  Tiber.  For  the  same  reason,  the  indifferent 
fronts  of  so  many  of  the  churches  are  the  less  to  be 
regretted,  because  in  their  unfavorable  positions  beau- 
tiful structures  could  not  be  appreciated. 

But  Rome  enjoys  a  great  advantage  in  the  pictur- 
esque inequality  of  its  surface.  Besides  its  imme- 
morial seven  hills,  it  now  includes  three  others,  the 
Janiculum,  the  Monte  Pincio,  and  the  Vatican ;  to  say 
nothing  of  the  artificial  Monte  Testaccio.  The  ground 
every  where,  except  in  the  central  portions,  rises  and 
falls,  swelling  into  bold  or  gentle  elevations  and  sink- 
ing into  valleys  more  or  less  depressed.  The  effect 
of  converging  lines  of  perpective  is  enhanced  from  the 
fact  that  the  point  of  meeting  is  in  a  different  plane 
from  that  of  the  eye.  Here,  we  look  up  to  a  group 
of  conventual  buildings,  crowning  an  eminence  ;  there, 
we  look  down  into  a  cavernous  abyss  of  crowded  dwell- 
ing-places ;  or  we  see  a  church  closing  a  vista  made 
up  of  a  long  descent  and  a  long  elevation.  It  is  only 
necessary  to  choose  a  commanding  position  in  Rome, 
to  find  pictures  unique  in  themselves,  attractive  to 


GENERAL    ASPECT    OF    ROME.  19 

the  eye,  and  delightful  to  recall.  The  view  from  the 
Pincian  Hill,  for  instance,  is  that  with  which  stran- 
gers are  most  familiar ;  and  let  us  consider  for  a  mo- 
ment some  of  its  peculiarities. 

An  American  eye  is  first  struck  with  the  absence  of 
that  dingy  red  brick  which  predominates  so  tyran- 
nically over  all  our  cities  ;  to  the  despair  of  artists  and 
the  discomfort  of  those  who  are  born  with  the  sense  of 
art.  This  glaring  color  is  quite  unknown  in  Rome. 
The  buildings  are,  as  a  general  rule,  of  stone,  or  cov- 
ered with  stucco ;  or  if  brick  be  used,  it  is  painted  ; 
and  the  different  hues  of  the  architectural  scene  being 
variations  of  the  same  ground  tone,  blend  to  the  eye  in 
one  uniform  tint  of  cream  or  stone  color,  with  patches 
of  ashen  gray ;  all  which  is  in  beautiful  unison  with 
the  blue  sky  and  the  green  ring  of  plain  and  mountain 
in  which  the  city  is  set. 

The  next  most  conspicuous  peculiarity  is  the  variety 
and  irregularity  of  the  air  line.  The  formal  horizontal 
monotony  of  our  blocks  of  building  are  nowhere  to  be 
seen.  Though  there  are  no  spires  properly  so  called 
—  for  they  are  Gothic  in  their  origin  —  there  are 
multitudes  of  towers  and  domes,  obelisks,  columns, 
belfries,  stately  palatial  masses,  convents  and  churches. 
To  these  are  to  be  added  the  irregularities  of  the  sur- 
face of  the  soil.  Thus,  the  outline  or  profile  traced 
upon  the  sky  by  the  projection  of  all  these  architec- 
tural forms  is  singularly  indented,  irregular,  and  broken. 
Rome  shoots  out  into  the  gulf  of  the  sky  a  great  num- 
ber of  capes  and  promontories.  These  two  elements 
of  color  and  outline  are  both  favorable  to  the  training 
of  the  artist,  for  on  whatever  spot  his  eye  may  light,  it 


20  GENERAL   ASPECT   OF   ROME. 

falls  upon  something  which  has  a  pictorial  possibility — 
which  may  be  incorporated  into  a  sketch.  This  pic- 
turesque character  of  Rome  is  the  great  secret  of  that 
magic  spell  which  it  throws  over  every  artist  who 
dwells  within  its  borders  :  an  influence,  which  like 
that  exerted  by  a  fine  climate  upon  a  sensitive  frame, 
is  more  felt  after  it  is  removed  than  while  it  is  enjoyed. 
Artists,  like  all  mortal  men,  are  sometimes  unreasona- 
ble and  inconsistent,,  and  will  speak  of  Rome  with 
disparagement  or  indifference  while  it  is  before  them  ; 
but  no  artist  ever  lived  in  Rome  and  then  left  it,  with- 
out sighing  to  return. 

From  the  irregularity  of  surface  in  the  site  of  Rome, 
and  from  the  power  thus  afforded  of  looking  down,  as 
well  as  above  and  around,  we  are  admitted  to  view 
many  interior  pictures,  and  to  see  the  reverse  side  of 
the  tapestry  of  life.  Rome  is  a  city  of  wide  spaces, 
and  luxuriates  in  elbow-room  ;  and  the  buildings  are 
not  crowded,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  except  in  a  few 
places.  All  the  larger  houses  are  so  built  as  to  enclose 
a  court-yard,  and  many  of  them  have  patches  of  gar- 
den-ground in  the  rear.  In  looking  down  into  these 
court-yards,  the  observant  eye  will  meet  with  frequent 
subjects  and  hints  for  the  artist;  in  the  moulding  of 
a  window,  in  a  projecting  balcony,  an  ornamented 
frieze,  or  in  an  orange-tree,  whose  dark  foliage  and 
golden  fruit  stand  out  in  the  happiest  contrast  with 
the  gray  hues  of  the  wall. 

Rome  is,  indeed,  full  of  the  picturesque;  which  is 
seen  not  only  in  its  well-known  ruins,  its  renowned 
churches,  its  sparkling  fountains,  its  obelisks,  its  arches, 
and  its  columns — in  those  objects  which  are  described 


GENERAL    ASPECT    OF    ROME.  21 

in  guide-books  and  sit  for  their  pictures  in  sketch-books 
—  but  it  comes  upon  us  at  every  turn.  It  is  found  in 
combination,  not  merely  with  beauty  and  finish,  but 
with  dilapidation  and  decay.  Here,  we  see  a  frag- 
ment of  antiquity  wrought  into  a  modern  wall ;  there, 
an  old  house  with  quaintly  carved  '  coignes  of  vantage ; ' 
here,  a  massive  gateway  of  stone,  with  a  pine  or  an 
orange-tree  overhanging  it.  The  interior  scenes  into 
which  we  glance  as  we  walk  along,  have  the  same 
character.  Here,  is  the  open  door  of  a  sculptor's 
studio  into  which  we  peep,  and  through  the  marble- 
dusted  atmosphere  mark  a  silent  congregation  of  busts, 
or  a  form  of  beauty  or  grandeur  struggling  into  sym- 
metry. There,  is  the  shop  of  a  dealer  in  antiquities, 
strewn  over  with  pictures,  engravings,  vases,  antique 
furniture,  books,  armor,  and  plate  —  a  collection  of 
nicknacks  over  which  Jonathan  Oldbuck  would  have 
gone  wild  with  delight — all  in  dusty  disarray,  but  look- 
ing none  the  less  like  a  Dutch  interior.  Here,  is  a 
window  full  of  bewitching  bronzes,  all  of  which  we 
wish  straightway  to  buy ;  and  near  to  it,  another,  rich 
in  mosaics  and  cameos,  equally  tempting  to  our  fair 
friends. 

The  charm  of  cleanliness  belongs  neither  to  Rome 
nor  its  people.  The  sense  of  beauty  and  the  sense  of 
neatness  and  order  do  not  necessarily  dwell  in  the  same 
natures.  The  Italians,  who  have  so  much  of  the  for- 
mer, are  sparingly  endowed  with  the  latter.  But  in 
Rome  even  dirt  becomes  picturesque.  The  shops  of 
grocers,  butchers,  and  vegetable  dealers,  are  deficient 
in  that  careful  propriety,  that  exquisite  niceness,  that 
absence  of  every  thing  distasteful  and  unsightly,  which 


22 


GENERAL    ASPECT    OF    ROME. 


we  observe  in  similar  establishments  in  the  large  cities 
of  our  own  country,  and  still  more  in  London  ;  but 
even  here  there  will  be  something  to  mark  the  percep- 
tion of  beauty,  and  an  eye  accustomed  to  pictorial  com- 
binations. The  grocer's  shop  will  have  a  dirty  floor, 
and  a  dingy,  stained  wall ;  but  he  will  dispose  his 
hams,  his  round  buffalo  cheeses,  and  his  strings  of 
Bologna  sausages  so  as  to  produce  a  certain  picturesque 
effect :  he  will  ornament  his  wares  with  flowers  and 
branches  of  laurel,  and  on  the  evenings  of  the  great 
church  holidays  will  set  up  an  image  of  the  Madonna, 
and  burn  candles  before  it.  The  shop  or  stall  of  the 
dealer  in  vegetables  will  be  littered  with  decayed 
leaves,  orange-peel,  and  refuse  fragments  of  every  de- 
scription ;  but  his  green  melons,  his  purple  egg-plants, 
his  snowy  cauliflowers,  his  blood-red  tomatoes,  will  be 
so  grouped  as  to  bring  out  contrasts  of  color  which 
an  artist  need  not  disdain  to  study. 

The  living  figures  of  this  landscape  also  share  in  this 
common  element  of  the  picturesque.  In  Rome,  as  in 
middle  and  southern  Italy  generally,  more  of  the  occu- 
pations of  life  are  carried  on,  and  more  of  its  wants  are 
provided  for,  out  of  doors,  than  the  climate  in  less 
genial  latitudes  will  permit.  Here,  is  a  cobbler's  stall ; 
there,  an  old  woman  roasting  chestnuts  in  a  small  oven, 
the  ruddy  charcoal  of  which  gleams  with  a  pleasant 
smile  of  invitation  in  a  winter  twilight  ;  here,  a  young 
maiden,  with  a  classic  head  and  hair  braided  as  in  one 
of  Raphael's  pictures,  sits  patiently  all  day  long  before 
a  table  spread  with  little  ornaments  of  marble  ;  there, 
is  a  booth  in  which  a  sort  of  pancake  is  cooked  and 
sold,  filling  the  air  with  savory  odors  and  a  comfortable 


GENERAL    ASPECT    OF    ROME.  X6 

sound  of  simmering.  In  a  quiet  corner,  is  an  elderly 
man  in  spectacles,  clothed  in  a  decent  suit  of  black, 
with  a  pen  stuck  in  his  ear  and  implements  of  writing 
before  him.  He  is  a  '  segretario '  or  letter-writer,  and 
he  earns  his  bread  by  writing  letters  for  those  who  can- 
not write,  or  reading  them  for  those  who  cannot  read. 
Some  travellers  may  have  the  good  luck  —  which  did 
not  befall  me  —  of  seeing  a  dark-eyed  peasant  girl 
breathing  into  his  impassive  ear  her  messages  of.  love 
and  trust,  with  glances  and  blushes  more  expressive 
than  her  glowing  words.*  Further  on  is  an  osteria,  or 
shop  where  wine  is  sold  —  with  doors  hospitably  open 
to  all  who  have  a  few  baiocchi  in  their  pockets  —  in 
which  is  a  group  of  peasants  or  laborers  listening,  with 
a  flush  of  interest  upon  their  swarthy  countenances,  to 
the  impassioned  declamation  of  an  improvisatore  —  for 
improvisatori  are  nearly  as  common  in  Rome  as  stump 
speakers  in  America  —  whose  subject  is  Rinaldo  and 
Armida,  or  that  wandering  knight,  J3neas,  whom  the 
Holy  Virgin  brought  to  Italy.  In  the  middle  of  the 
street  is  a  heavy  wain  drawn  by  buffaloes,  whose  sullen 
movements  express  a  perpetual  protest  against  cap- 
tivity, and  whose  fierce  eyes  seem  always  (glaring 
round  in  search  of  a  victim  —  or  by  those  magnificent 
oxen  of  the  Campagna,  of  the  color  of  Quincy  granite, 
colossal'  and  mild-visaged,  the  finest  images  of  gentle 
strength  which  the  animal  world  exhibits  —  or  perhaps 
a  wine-cart,  as  primitive  in  its  structure  as  that  in  which 


*  Such  a  group  forms  the  subject  of  a  very  pleasing  picture, 
painted  in  Rome  by  Davis,  an  English  artist,  engravings  of 
which  are  frequently  to  be  met  with. 


24  GENERAL    ASPECT    OF    ROME. 

the  boy  Virgil  drove  the  produce  of  his  father's  vine- 
yards to  Mantua  ;  with  a  movable  canopy  of  foliage  to 
shelter  the  driver  from  the  noonday  sun,  and  the  horse's 
head  adorned  with  vine  leaves  and  flowers. 

Rome  is  also  remarkable  for  the  number  and  variety 
of  the  costumes  seen  in  its  streets.  In  Italy,  as  in 
continental  Europe  generally,  the  various  ranks  in 
social  life  are  marked,  more  or  less  broadly,  by  a  dis- 
tinctive costume.  The  cast-off  garments  of  one  class 
are  never  worn  at  second-hand  by  another.  The  rural 
population  dress  as  their  fathers  and  mothers  did  be- 
fore them,  and  attach  a  certain  element  of  dignity  and 
self-respect  to  this  adherence.  The  different  localities 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Rome  —  such  as  Albano,  Fras- 
cati,  Subiaco  —  are  marked  generally  by  certain  dis- 
tinctive peculiarities,  especially  in  the  costume  of  the 
female  portion  of  the  population ;  though  there  is  a 
common  likeness  running  through  them  all,  like  the 
resemblance  of  features  in  the  members  of  the  same 
family.  The  peasant  who  comes  to  Rome  in  the  cold 
days  of  winter,  wraps  himself  up  in  the  folds  of  an 
ample  brown  cloak,  which  he  wears  with  ease  and 
sometimes  with  grace.  In  fine  weather,  he  sets  off  his 
steeple-crowned  hat  with  flowers  or  ribbons.  His 
waistcoat,  revealed  by  a  scanty  jacket,  is  of  scarlet 
cloth,  adorned  with  the  gayest  of  buttons,  and  perhaps 
embroidered  with  gold  or  silver.  His  breeches  are  tied 
at  the  knee  with  shewy  ribbons,  or  fastened  with  silver 
buckles  ;  and  his  legs  are  protected  by  strong  leathern 
gaiters.  Around  his  waist  he  wears  a  woollen  scarf, 
and  the  ends  of  a  shewy  cravat  flutter  in  the  breeze. 

The  peasant  woman  wears  a  boddice  of  a  gay  color, 


GENERAL   ASPECT    OF    ROME.  25 

often  divided  into  two  parts  and  bound  together  in  front 
by  ribbons.  Her  gown  is  short  enough  to  allow  full 
justice  to  be  done  to  the  shining  buckles  in  her  shoes. 
But  the  most  striking  part  of  her  costume  is  the  head- 
dress, which,  with  many  slight  variations  according  to 
the  locality,  is  always  handsome  and  becoming.  It  is 
usually  of  white  linen,  lying  in  a  square  fold  upon  the 
top  of  the  head,  and  fastened  to  the  hair,  which  is 
gathered  in  a  mass  on  the  back  of  the  head,  by  a  silver 
arrow  ;  the  shape  of  which  designates  the  condition  of 
the  wearer,  whether  married  or  unmarried.  Some- 
times this  linen  head-dress  is  disposed  more  like  a 
veil  —  or  it  is  gathered  in  the  form  of  a  hood  — 
or  it  blends  with  a  similar  covering  over  the  shoul- 
ders and  bust,  in  a  way  which  a  masculine  pen  is 
not  competent  to  describe,  nor  a  masculine  memory  to 
retain  ;  but  it  serves  so  well  the  purposes  both  of  em- 
bellishment and  protection,  and  being  always  scrupu- 
lously clean,  is  so  suggestive  of  purity,  that  we  have 
every  reason  to  be  grateful  that  these  sturdy  women 
have  resisted  the  general  invasion  of  bonnets. 

The  great  number  of  ecclesiastics  who  are  found  in 
Rome  also  contribute  to  increase  the  variety  of  costume 
which  is  noticed  in  the  streets.  The  Roman  Catholic 
idea  of  the  character  and  functions  of  the  clergy, 
whether  secular  o«  monastic,  requires  that  they  should 
be  marked  by  a  distinguishing  dress,  as  men  severed 
from  all  the  common  ties  and  relations  of  life,  and  dedi- 
cated exclusively  to  spiritual  duties.  One  cannot  look 
out  of  a  window  in  Rome,  without  seeing  one  or  more 
figures  in  flowing  robes  of  black,  and  capacious  and 
overshadowing  hats,  moving  gravely  along,  and  hardly 


26  GENERAL   ASPECT   OF   ROME. 

taking  cognizance  of  the  world  around  them.  Even 
the  youths  who  study  in  ecclesiastical  establishments 
appear  in  a  similar  garb,  which  is  in  marked  contrast 
with  their  quick  movements  and  animated  faces. 
Mixed  with  these  are  the  Capuchin  friars,  who  wear  a 
robe  of  coarse,  brown  woollen,  girded  around  the  waist 
with  a  cord  ;  a  dress  well-suited  for  the  purposes  of  an 
artist,  but  repulsive,  from  the  want  of  cleanliness  which 
it  suggests.  The  cardinals  and  higher  dignitaries  of 
the  church  never  appear  in  the  streets  on  foot.* 
—  Nor  should  the  artists  be  overlooked  in  summing  up 
the  characteristic  peculiarities  of  Rome.  They  form  a 
numerous  class,  and  their  identity  of  pursuits  and  in- 
terests goes  far  to  obliterate  the  distinctions  of  birth  and 
language.  They  affect,  especially  the  younger  portion 
of  them,  certain  eccentricities  and  fantasticalities  of 
dress,  which  serve  to  point  them  out  to  the  eye  and 
mark  their  profession.  They  seek  to  escape  from  the 
sober  and  prosaic  costume  of  the  day  into  the  more 
flowing  outlines  of  older  periods  or  more  remote  climes. 
They  wear  jaunty  caps  or  hats  of  flexible  felt  moulded 


*  This  rule  is  inflexible.  The  Church  will  not  permit  its 
cardinals  to  be  exposed  to  such  involuntary  disrespect  as 
might  happen  from  the  crowds  in  a  street.  Cardinal  Rohan, 
Archbishop  of  Besa^on,  asked  as  a  particular  favor  from 
Gregory  XVI.  that  he  might  walk  from  his  lodgings  to  the 
Trinita  de'  Monti,  where  he  said  mass,  as  the  distance  was 
short.  But  in  spite  of  his  illustrious  birth,  the  great  sacrifices 
he  had  made  for  the  church,  and  the  personal  friendship  of  the 
pontiff,  his  request  was  refused.  The  pope  desired  him  to  ask 
any  thing  else,  but  that  was  impossible.  Gaume  :  Les  Trois 
Rome.  Tom.  1,  p.  407. 


GENERAL   ASPECT   OF   ROME.  27 

into  quaint  shapes ;  sometimes  brown,  sometimes  green, 
but  commonly  drab.  They  are  fond  of  velvet  or  vel- 
veteen coats,  loosely  and  '  curiously  cut ; '  often  orna- 
mented with  braid,  and  sometimes  garnished  with 
buttons  as  big  as  dollars.  Their  waistcoats  are  of  the 
gayest  patterns,  daubed  over  with  great  blotches  of 
color  jumbled  together  like  a  distracted  rainbow. 
Their  trowsers  are  of  Turkish  dimensions,  and  often 
emancipated  from  the  tyranny  of  braces.  Razors, 
with  hardly  a  single  exception,  are  an  abomination  in 
their  eyes.  Their  beards  are  of  all  shapes  —  some, 
square  and  spade-like  ;  some,  'great,  round  beards  ;' 
some,  like  tongues  of  flame  flickering  on  the  chin  ; 
some,  mere  tufts  like  the  stroke  of  a  pencil  —  and  of 
all  colors,  black,  brown,  yellow,  red,  or  '  orange- 
tawny.' 

Such  are  the  figures  and  costumes  which  are  con- 
stantly to  be  seen  at  Rome,  and  so  identified  with  it 
that  one  never  recalls  the  city  itself  without  some  of 
these  attendant  shapes  gliding  in  to  complete  the  vision. 
About  Christmas  time,  there  appear  in  the  streets  some 
picturesque  and  characteristic  groups  not  noticed  at 
other  periods  of  the  year.  There  are  the  Piferari,  so 
called,  shepherds  from  the  Abruzzi  and  the  Sabine 
mountains,  who  make  an  annual  pilgrimage  to  Rome 
to  play  before  the  various  portraits  of  the  Virgin.  They 
are  frequently  seen  in  companies  of  three  ;  an  old  man, 
a  man  of  mature  age,  and  a  boy.  Their  instruments 
are  of  the  most  simple  kind  ;  an  uncouth  bagpipe  and 
a  long  straight  pipe,  pierced  with  holes  and  furnished 
with  a  mouthpiece  of  reed  —  the  primitive  form  of  the 
clarionet — and  sometimes  a  triangle.  Their  appearance 


28  GENERAL   ASPECT    OF    ROME. 

is  wild,  almost  savage.  Their  dress  is  partly  of  coarse 
cloth,  and  partly  of  skins ;  and  they  wear  a  kind  of  san- 
dal upon  their  feet,  bound  round  the  ancles  with  thongs. 
Their  conical  hats,  which  they  always  reverently  lay 
aside  when  playing,  are  adorned  with  gay  ribbons. 
Dark  eyes  gleaming  through  long  elf-locks  of  glittering 
black  give  a  marked  character  to  their  countenances. 
They  arrive  about  a  week  before  Christmas,  and  during 
that  time  they  employ  themselves  with  the  greatest  dili- 
gence, not  only  during  the  day  but  often  late  into  the 
night,  in  going  about  the  streets  and  playing  before  the 
various  images  of  the  Madonna,  with  a  grave  and 
earnest  expression  of  face,  shewing  that  they  regard 
their  occupation  to  be  the  performance  of  a  religious 
duty.  The  groups  which  gather  around  them  on  these 
occasions,  always  listen  with  devout  attention.  Their 
music  is  wild,  loud,  and  piercing  ;  but  when  heard  in 
the  stillness  of  night,  and  at  a  short  distance,  it  is  plain- 
tive and  impressive.  The  effect  which  it  produces  is 
enhanced  by  those  associations,  which  link  these  pas- 
toral groups  with  those  shepherds  of  Bethlehem  that 
were  sent  by  angel  voices  to  the  manger  where  the 
child  Jesus  lay.  After  Christmas,  they  play  no  more, 
and  soon  return  to  their  native  mountains,  coming  like 
birds  of  passage  and  like  them  departing.* 

*  These  musicians  have  simple  songs  which  they  sometimes 
sing  to  the  accompaniment  of  their  instruments.     The  Abbe 
Gaume  has  printed  one  of  them,  from  their  dictation. 
'  O  verginella,  figlia  de  Sant'  Anna, 
Nel  ventre  tuo,  portaste  il  buon  Gesu. 
Gl'  Angioli  chiamarano  :  venite  Santi, 
Andate  Gesii  bambino  alia  capanna, 


PIAZZA    DEL    POPOLO.  29 


PIAZZA    DEL    POPOLO. 

Such  are  some  of  the  general  features  of  Rome, 
visible  every  where  and  at  all  times,  and  stamping  a 
common  character  upon  the  whole  city.  There  are, 
besides,  some  particular  localities  which  have  peculiar 
points  of  interest,  and  deserve  to  be  singled  out  from 
the  rest. 

A  majority  of  the  travellers  who  come  to  Rome  enter 
it  by  the  Porta  del  Popolo,  for  that  is  the  gate  where 
the  roads  leading  from  Florence  terminate.  The  gate 
itself,  though  designed  in  part  by  Michael  Angelo,  is 
not  a  structure  of  any  conspicuous  excellence  ;  but  the 
Piazza  del  Popolo  upon  which  it  opens,  is  an  imposing 
square,  though  not  corresponding  to  the  ideal  image  of 

Partorito  sotto  ad  una  capanella, 

Ad'  ove  mangiavan  il  bove  e  1'  asinelli. 

Immacolata  vergine  beata 

In  cielo,  in  terra  sia  avocata. 

La  notte  di  natale,  e  notte  santa, 

Questa  orazion  che  sera  cantata 

Gesti  bambino  sia  representata.' 

'  0  Virgin  sweet,  St.  Anna's  child, 
That  bore  the  infant  Jesus  mild  ; 
The  angels  said,  "  Ye  saints,  arise, 
See  where  the  new-born  Saviour  lies  ; 
A  stable  is  his  lowly  seat, 
Where  asses  and  where  oxen  eat." 
0  blessed  Virgin,  undefiled, 
Be  thou  our  intercessor  mild  ! 
This  Christmas  night  —  this  holy  tide  — 
0  may  our  songs  to  Heaven  glide, 
And  Jesus  hear  them,  by  thy  side.' 


30  PIAZZA    DEL    POPOLO. 

Rome  which  the  scholar  forms.  It  is  an  irregular  area 
of  some  three  or  four  acres  in  extent,  in  the  middle  of 
which  rises  the  noble  obelisk  of  Rhamses,  to  the  height 
of  one  hundred  and  sixteen  feet ;  itself  an  architectural 
pilgrim,  with  as  little  affinity  with  the  structures  which 
surround  it  as  the  figure  of  the  Wandering  Jew  would 
have  with  the  gay  crowds  of  a  carnival.  At  the  base 
of  the  obelisk  is  a  fountain,  with  four  rounded  basins 
radiating  from  a  common  centre  like  the  leaves  of  a 
stalk  of  four-leaved  clover  —  a  stream  of  water  gushing 
into  each  basin  from  the  mouth  of  a  lioness  carved  in 
stone.  The  sides  of  the  Piazza  are  crescent-shaped, 
bounded  on  the  right  by  a  row  of  trees  —  behind  which 
are  some  of  the  finest  private  residences  in  Rome  — 
and  on  the  left  by  the  sloping  and  terraced  walks  which 
lead  to  the  heights  of  the  Monte  Pincio.  The  central 
point  of  either  crescent  is  marked  by  a  fountain  adorned 
with  colossal  statues  in  marble  ;  none  of  which  are  of 
much  merit,  but  all  escape  criticism  by  the  appropri- 
ateness of  the  position,  and  the  harmonious  relations 
in  which  they  stand  to  the  objects  about  them.  Op- 
posite the  gate  are  two  churches,  exactly  alike  in  size 
and  form,  each  furnished  with  a  dome  and  tetrastyle, 
and  looking  like  architectural  twins,  claiming  admira- 
tion not  for  their  beauty  (for  the  design  is  common- 
place) but  for  their  resemblance.  These  two  churches 
mark  the  converging  point  of  the  three  principal  streets 
of  Rome,  the  Corso,  the  Via  di  Ripetta,  and  the  Via 
Babuino. 

The  Piazza  del  Popolo,  though,  as  has  been  before 
remarked,  not  corresponding  to  one's  conceptions  of 
the  venerable  and  decaying  majesty  of  Rome,  is,  from 


PIAZZA    DI    SPAGNA.  31 

its  ample  space,  its  noble  proportions,  its  obelisk,  its 
fountains,  its  trees,  and  its  fine  buildings,  a  becoming 
entrance  to  a  great  city.  It  is  seen  to  peculiarly  good 
effect  in  the  afternoon  of  a  fine  day  in  the  autumn  or 
spring  —  when  it  is  enlivened  with  equipages  returning 
from  a  drive  in  the  Campagna,  or  passing  up  the  in- 
clined planes  which  lead  to  the  Pincio,  and  with  pedes- 
trians strolling  in  the  same  direction  —  and  when  the 
sunshine  lies  in  rich  masses  upon  the  architectural 
fa9ades  and  silvers  the  spray  of  the  fountains.  It  also 
presents  a  beautiful  view  when  seen  from  the  heights 
of  the  Pincio.  Its  general  aspect  is  gay,  fresli,  and 
smiling.  It  is'  not  strewn  with  the  wrecks  of  the  past. 
With  the  single  exception  of  the  obelisk,  there  is  no 
object  in  it  which  carries  back  the  thoughts  to  the 
fashion  of  the  antique  world.  Its  smart  buildings,  its 
vigorous  young  trees,  its  bright  marble  fountains,  and 
the  gay  equipages  that  drive  over  its  smooth  pavement, 
all  shine  with  the  varnish  of  the  present.  If  it  be  not 
our  visionary  Rome,  it  is  yet  a  fine  image  which  it 
would  be  ungracious  to  repel ;  as  the  morning  light  is 
welcome,  though  it  shatters  dreams  brighter  than  the 
realities  which  it  reveals. 


PIAZZA    DI    SPAGNA. 

Of  the  three  streets  which  diverge  from  the  Piazza 
del  Popolo,  that  which  is  on  the  left  or  eastern  side  — 
the  Via  Babuino  —  leads  to  the  Piazza  di  Spagna, 
which  is  only  a  few  rods  distant  from  the  Piazza  del 
Popolo.  The  Piazza  di  Spagna  is  an  area  of  a  trian- 
gular form,  with  the  buildings  of  the  Propaganda  at  its 


32  PIAZZA    DI    SPAGNA. 

southern  extremity,  and  the  palace  of  the  Spanish  am- 
bassador—  from  which  its  name  is  derived  —  on  the 
western  side  ;  and  with  these  exceptions,  mostly  occu- 
pied with  hotels,  lodging-houses,  coffee-houses,  and 
shops.  This  is  the  most  active  and  least  Roman  part 
of  Rome  ;  being  wholly  given  over  to  the  descendants 
of  those  blue-eyed  and  fair-haired  barbarians,  who  once 
subdued  the  Eternal  City  with  steel,  as  their  children 
now  do  with  gold.  Here,  the  English  speech  is  the 
predominating  sound,  and  sturdy  English  forms  and 
rosy  English  faces  the  predominating  sight.  Here,  are 
English  shops,  an  English  livery-stable,  and  an  Eng- 
lish reading-room,  where  elderly  gentlemen  in  drab 
gaiters,  read  the  Times  newspaper  with  an  air  of  grim 
intensity.  Here,  English  grooms  flirt  with  English 
nursery-maids,  and  English  children  present  to  Italian 
eyes  the  living  types  of  the  cherub  heads  of  Correggio 
and  Albano.  It  is,  in  short,  a  piece  of  England  dropped 
upon  the  soil  of  Italy. 

The  open  space  in  the  midst  of  the  Piazza  is  the 
principal  carriage-stand  of  Rome,  where  vehicles  of 
various  shapes  and  sizes  may  be  hired  by  the  hour  or 
the  course.  Few  of  them  are  neat  and  unexception- 
able in  their  appointments ;  and  the  clumsy  and  time- 
worn  joints  of  most  of  them  rattle  and  shake  in  their 
passage  over  the  pavements  to  the  great  discomposure 
of  irritable  nerves.  The  horses  are  a  small  and  wiry 
breed  of  animals,  shewing  no  signs  of  nice  grooming  ; 
deficient  in  action,  but  by  no  means  in  '  go  ; '  being 
well  able  to  get  over  the  ground  at  the  rate  of  six  or 
seven  miles  an  hour.  The  drivers  are,  in  costume  and 
expression,  a  hybrid  race  between  the  ostler  and  the 


PIAZZA   DI    SPAGNA.  33 

bandit.  They  sit  with  great  patience  upon  their  seats 
in  the  warm  sunny  days  when  their  business  is  com- 
paratively dull,  and  solace  themselves  with  long  naps 
in  their  intervals  of  enforced  idleness  ;  their  constitu- 
tions, like  those  of  most  Italians,  enabling  them  to  bear 
a  great  deal  of  sleep.  Let  no  man  with  a  Saxon  face 
enter  one  of  these  carriages,  without  making  a  bargain 
beforehand  as  to  the  price  to  be  paid,  unless  ha  wishes 
to  buy  experience  at  the  highest  rate  at  which  that 
costly  article  is  sold. 

Mixed  with  these  carriages  and  horses  there  may  be 
seen,  in  fine  weather,  a  motley  assemblage  of  loungers 
dispersed  about  the  Piazza  —  for  this  is  the  exchange 
where  all  the  idlers  in  Rome  congregate  —  some  stand- 
ing apart  wrapt  in  their  cloaks,  some  chatting  in  groups, 
and  some  lying  down  in  the  sunshine  of  a  sheltered 
angle.  These  are  the  representatives  of  that  non- 
descript class,  larger  in  Rome  than  any  where  else, 
who  pick  up  a  wretched  and  scrambling  subsistence 
from  the  crumbs  which  fall  from  the  stranger's  table  — 
made  up  of  vetturini  seeking  passengers,  valets-de- 
place  seeking  sight-seers,  and  beggars  seeking  alms, 
—  to  say  nothing  of  baser  offices  and  more  degrading 
functions  —  all  lying  in  wait  ready  to  pounce  upon  the 
fair-haired  barbarians  and  avenge  upon  their  pockets 
the  wrongs  of  former  centuries.  Dark,  penetrating 
glances  fall  upon  the  stranger,  as  if  measuring  the 
extent  of  his  inexperience  and  gullibility ;  and  his  ears 
are  assailed  by  the  whine  of  the  mendicant,  the  whis- 
per of  temptation,  and  the  loud  offer  of  the  man  of 
business.  Here  is  always  a  living  and  moving  picture 
to  be  seen.  Here  the  pulse  of  vitality  beats,  and  its 

VOL.  II.  3 


34  PIAZZA   DI    SPAGNA. 

heart  is  heard  to  throb.  So  many  are  the  occasions 
that  bring  the  foreign  residents  to  the  Piazza  di  Spagna, 
that  an  Englishman  or  American  who  should  station 
himself  in  the  midst  of  it,  on  a  fine  day,  would,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  hours,  be  able  to  speak  with  nearly  all 
his  acquaintances  without  stirring  from  the  spot. 

The  fountain  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  is  in  the  shape 
of  a  boat,  from  which  its  name,  Fontana  della  Barcac- 
cia  is  derived.  This  form  was  adopted  from  necessity, 
as  the  head  of  water  is  not  sufficient  for  a  jet  of  any 
considerable  height ;  and  the  designer  should  rather  be 
commended  for  what  he  has  done  than  blamed  for 
what  he  has  not.  As  an  object  of  taste,  the  fountain 
neither  pleases  nor  offends.  But  we  overlook  its  de- 
fects, or  more  properly  its  wants,  in  view  of  the  magnifi- 
cent flight  of  steps  of  travertine,  at  the  base  of  which 
it  is  placed.  This  flight  of  steps  leads  from  the  Piazza 
di  Spagna  to  the  promenade  on  the  Pincio,  and  crown- 
ed as  it  is  with  the  fajade  of  the  Church  of  the  Trinita 
de'  Monti,  and  the  Egyptian  obelisk  in  front  of  the 
church,  it  forms  one  of  the  noblest  architectural  com- 
binations to  be  seen  in  Rome  or  any  where  else. 
The  steps  of  which  it  is  composed  are  one  hundred 
and  thirty  in  number,  and  the  ascent  is  so  gradual, 
the  landing-places  so  broad  and  commodious,  and  its 
whole  design  so  imposing  to  the  eye,  and  so  suited 
to  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  contrived,  that  no 
one,  not  very  old  or  infirm,  can  ever  ascend  it  without 
pleasure. 

That  portion  of  this  flight  of  steps,  which  is  between 
the  Piazza  di  Spagna  and  the  first  landing-place,  is  fre- 
quently occupied  by  persons  seeking 'to  be  employed 


PIAZZA    DI    SPAGNA.  35 

as  artists'  models,  whose  picturesque  costumes  are  in 
unison  with  the  fine  architecture  around  them.  Here 
may  be  seen  the  invariable  figures  of  an  Italian  land- 
scape. An  old  man,  clad  in  a  flowing  robe,  with  a 
venerable  white  beard,  a  staff  in  his  hand  and  a  scallop- 
shell  on  his  breast,  stands  for  a  pilgrim.  A  sturdy 
contadino  in  a  smart  jacket,  a  conical  hat  gay  with 
feathers  and  ribbons,  goat-skin  breeches,  leggings,  and 
sandals,  can  be  turned  with  a  few  strokes  of  the  pencil 
into  a  bandit  or  a  shepherd.  A  young  mother  in  a 
red  boddice  and  head-dress  of  snowy  linen,  with  one 
child  in  her  lap  and  another  sporting  at  her  feet,  pre- 
sents a  group  that  may  be  idealized  into  a  Madonna 
with  the  infant  Saviour  and  St.  John.  Young  men  and 
women,  half-grown  lads  and  budding  maidens,  dressed 
in  the  various  costumes  of  the  neighborhood  of  Rome 
—  the  mountain  air  brown  upon  their  cheeks  and  the 
mountain  spirit  sparkling  through  their  eyes  —  stand 
ready  to  walk  into  a  canvas  to  give  life  to  an  Italian 
vintage  or  harvest-home.  Some  of  the  young  women 
wear  an  expression  of  embarrassment  and  conscious- 
ness, and  drop  their  eyes  with  a  smile  and  half-blush 
when  they  meet  the  glance  of  a  stranger,  but  most  of 
them  take  it  very  coolly  and  in  a  business-like  way. 

The  landing-place  near  the  top  of  this  flight  of  steps 
has  for  many  years  been  appropriated  by  a  beggar  — 
one  of  the  most  noted  personages  in  Rome  —  whose 
pertinacious  and  original  system  of  levying  blackmail 
every  visitor  has  many  times  had  occasion  to  observe. 
He  is  a  living  Torso  ;  his  figure  from  the  hips  upward 
being  vigorous  and  manly  ;  but  at  that  point  the  crea- 
tive energy  of  nature  has  paused,  and  to  this  sturdy 


36  PIAZZA   DI    SPAGNA. 

trunk  are  appended  the  feeble  and  boneless  legs  of  a 
new-born  infant.  He  sits  in  a  sort  of  a  wooden  bowl, 
and  on  the  smooth,  broad  platform  which  he  has  made 
his  own,  he  shuffles  to  and  fro  with  extraordinary  ac- 
tivity, by  the  help  of  his  athletic  arms :  his  hands 
being  guarded  against  the  constant  attrition  of  the 
stone  by  pieces  of  wood.  From  his  post  of  observa- 
tion his  eye  commands  the  whole  sweep  of  the  steps, 
and  his  victim  is  singled  out  and  marked  down  for 
attack  long  before  he  gets  within  ear-shot.  Vain  are 
the  attempts  of  the  young  and  active  to  escape  him. 
With  scrambling  haste  he  overtakes  their  flying  steps, 
greets  them  with  a  most  professional  smile,  and  with 
a  whining  '  Buon  giorno,  Eccellenza,'  solicits  their 
charity.  As  the  landing-place  where  he  sits  is  flanked 
by  a  flight  of  steps  on  either  hand,  he  is  frequently 
thrown  into  a  momentary  access  of  indecision  by  the 
approach  of  two  persons  from  below,  at  the  same  mo- 
ment; one  preparing  to  mount  the  steps  on  his  right 
hand,  and  the  other,  on  his  left ;  but  his  quick  eye 
soon  points  out  to  him  which  of  the  two  is  the  more 
vulnerable  object,  and  after  him  he  shuffles,  magnani- 
mously renouncing  the  other.  So  wearisome  are  his 
pertinacious  assaults,  his  simulated  and  stereotyped 
smile,  and  his  long-drawn  whine,  that  I  have  known  of 
more  than  one  case  in  which  a  bargain  has  been  made 
with  him,  by  which,  on  condition  of  receiving  one  or 
two  scudi  at  the  beginning  of  a  Reason,  he  has  agreed 
to  forbear  his  approaches ;  and  it  is  but  fair  to  state 
that  he  has  always  observed  his  engagement  most 
scrupulously,  and  only  greeted  the  party  so  contracting 
with  a  friendly  nod  of  recognition.  He  is  said  to  be 


PIAZZA    DI    SPAGNA.  37 

a  man  of  some  substance  and  the  head  of  a  family : 
and  he  certainly  rides  every  day  to  his  place  of  busi- 
ness upon  a  donkey,  climbing  to  its  back  and  crawling 
down  from  it  with  much  activity  and  address. 

While  I  was  in  Rome,  my  attention  was  often 
attracted  to  a  'younger  and  brighter  form,'  who  had 
selected  the  street  in  front  of  the  Trinita  de'  Monti  as 
the  scene  of  his  mendicant  energies.  He  was  a  boy 
of  about  fourteen,  rather  smartly  dressed  in  a  blue 
jacket,  a  red  waistcoat,  brickdust-colored  breeches, 
brown  gaiters,  and  a  conical  hat.  He  carried  in  his 
hand  a  rude  kind  of  flageolet,  from  which  he  extracted 
mangled  fragments  of  sound,  which  no  musical  skill 
could  have  put  together  so  as  to  make  a  tune.  He 
was  a  handsome  varlet,  with  round  brown  cheeks,  and 
roguish  black  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  dancing  in  his 
head  with  fun  and  animal  spirits.  He  would  begin  his 
begging  in  the  usual  professional  drone,  and  with  a 
proclamation  of  hunger  and  want  of  food,  but  when 
this  was  parried  by  a  joke  upon  his  excellent  condi- 
tion, his  fat  cheeks,  and  the  sturdy  little  frame  which 
filled  up  his  dress,  as  a  grape  does  a  grapeskin,  his 
face  would  break  into  a  beaming  and  contagious  smile, 
revealing  a  set  of  teeth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  which 
looked  capable  of  eating  their  way  through  the  strong- 
est fortress  of  bread  and  butter.  He  had  the  advantage 
of  the  Torso  in  many  respects ;  and  especially  in  the 
possession  of  a  pair  of  most  excellent  legs  which  were 
in  perpetual  motion.  I  am  afraid  that  the  good  looks 
and  picturesque  garb  of  the  little  reprobate  made  his 
occupation  quite  profitable.  He  certainly  had  the  air 
of  a  person  who  had  found  a  thriving  business.  He 


38  MONTE    PINCIO. 

was  as  characteristic  a  feature  in  the  streets  of  Rome 
as  a  newspaper-boy  in  those  of  New  York  ;  and  had 
he  been  soberly  scolded  for  his  ignoble  calling,  he 
might  have  replied  with  a  question  not  easily  answered, 
'  What  else  is  there  for  me  to  do  ?  ' 


MONTE  PINCIO. 

Having  ascended  the  splendid  flight  of  steps  which 
leads  from  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  to  the  Trinita  de' 
Monti,  the  traveller,  turning  to  the  left,  will  reach  in  a 
few  moments'  brisk  walking  the  public  promenade 
known  to  the  Roman  world,  foreign  and  indigenous,  as 
the  Monte  Pincio.  The  fine  building  passed  on  the 
right  is  the  Villa  Medici,  which  has,  perhaps,  the  very 
noblest  situation  in  Rome,  at  once  elevated  and  se- 
cluded, and  commanding  a  wide  prospect  of  the  most 
varied  beauty.  To  Michael  Angelo  is  ascribed  the 
architecture  of  the  garden  facade  ;  which  is  rich  and 
showy,  and  has  a  general  resemblance  to  the  designs 
introduced  by  Claude  Lorraine  into  his  landscapes. 
The  gardens,  upwards  of  a  mile  in  circuit,  are  laid  out 
in  rectangles  and  formal  alleys,  and  divided  by  broad 
gravel  walks  overhung  with  trees.  Many  fragments 
of  ancient  sculpture  are  scattered  through  them.  They 
are  neatly  kept  and  freely  accessible  to  the  public ; 
which,  however,  does  not  often  avail  itself  of  the  privi- 
lege thus  courteously  proffered.  To  those  whose  taste 
or  temperament  leads  them  to  shun  the  noise  of  crowds 
and  choose  the  soothing  presence  of  retirement,  these 
gardens  present  a  most  congenial  attraction.  Though 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  most  animated  part  of 


MONTE    PINCIO.  39 

Rome,  they  are,  as  a  general  rule,  given  over  to  silence 
and  solitude.  In  their  narrow  alleys,  bordered  with 
high  walls  of  verdure,  and  darkened  by  the  shade  of 
sombre  foliage,  no  sound  of  life  intrudes.  The  hum 
of  the  city  does  not  penetrate  into  these  leafy  wilder- 
nesses. The  flow  of  pensive  thought  will  be  inter- 
rupted on.ly  by  the  dash  of  a  fountain,  the  rustling  of 
a  leaf,  or  the  chirp  of  a  bird.  On  the  eastern  side  the 
gardens  are  flanked  by  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  in 
this  direction  a  grand  expanse  of  mountain  and  plain 
unfolds  itself  to  the  eye. 

This  villa  is  now,  and  has  been  for  a  long  period  the 
seat  of  the  French  Academy  of  Fine  Arts.  Twenty- 
four  students,  in  the  departments  of  painting,  sculpture, 
music,  and  architecture,  are  maintained  here  at  the 
expense  of  the  government  for  a  certain  number  of 
years,  after  having  given  proofs  of  ability  enough  to 
earn  the  privilege.  At  the  head  of  the  institution  is  a 
director,  who  is  changed  every  six  years.  He  is  usu- 
ally an  artist  of  eminence ;  but  his  direction  and  super- 
vision are  mainly  nominal,  and  the  young  men  are 
left  to  cultivate  their  genius  pretty  much  in  their  own 
way. 

The  rooms  of  the  academy  are  thrown  open  to  the 
public  in  the  month  of  April,  when  an  exhibition  is 
made  of  the  works  of  the  pupils  in  painting  and  sculp- 
ture. Disinterested  critics,  who  have  attended  these 
exhibitions,  admit  a  general  level  of  cleverness  and  cor- 
rectness in  the  performances,  but  feel  a  want  of  those 
vigorous  individual  traits  which  give  to  art  its  true 
vitality  and  power ;  and  they  are  constrained  to  con- 
fess that  such  works  do  not  furnish  a  sufficient  answer 


40  MONTE    PINCIO. 

to  those  who  maintain  that  the  results  produced  by  this 
academy  bear  no  proportion  to  the  expense  which  its 
maintenance  involves.  This  inquiry  brings  up  the 
whole  question  as  to  the  effect  of  academies  upon  art, 
which  belongs  to  that  numerous  class  of  controversies 
in  which  '  much  may  be  said  on  both  sides,'  and  upon 
which  high  authorities  are  directly  at  issue. 

Between  the  Trinita  de'  Monti  and  the  promenade 
of  the  Monte  Pincio,  there  is  another  object  which 
deserves  a  moment's  pause,  tt  is  a  fountain,  not  re- 
markable for  size  or  beauty,  being  nothing  more  than  a 
small,  perpendicular  jet  of  water,  falling  into  an  una- 
dorned, circular  basin  of  stone  :  the  whole  overshadowed 
by  a  wide-spreading  tree.  But  it  is  an  attractive  sight, 
not  merely  from  its  good  proportions  and  unpretending 
simplicity,  but  from  its  fine  position  and  its  harmony 
with  the  objects  around  it.  The  view  of  St.  Peter's, 
over  its  flowing  and  restless  waters,  though  not  set 
down  in  the  guide-books,  is  well  worth  a  long  and 
patient  look.  The  massive  and  silent  bulk  of  the  dis- 
tant dome  is  brought  into  vivid  contrast  with  the  danc- 
ing sparkle  and  silvery  foam  of  the  fountain,  while 
the  wide  extent  of  the  city  and  the  Campagna,  bathed 
in  floods  of  rich  light,  seen  from  this  quiet,  shadowed 
nook,  forms  a  picture  not  easily  forgotten. 

The  Monte  Pincio  itself  is  a  space  of  only  a  few 
acres  in  extent,  planted  with  trees  and  shrubbery,  com- 
prising a  circular  drive  for  carriages,  and  rectangular 
walks  for  foot-passengers.  There  is  nothing  at  all 
striking  in  the  manner  in  which  it  is  laid  out ;  and, 
indeed,  the  limited  extent  of  surface  forbids  any  at- 
tempt at  the  fine  effects  of  landscape  gardening. 


MONTE   PINCIO.  41 

Trees,  fountains,  gravelled  walks,  and  parterres  of  for- 
mal cut,  disposed  with  monotonous  regularity  upon  a 
level  plain  which  one  could  run  round  in  a  few 
minutes,  would  soon  weary  the  eye  and  the  spirit,  if 
enforced  by  no  other  attractions.  The  ring  in  which 
the  carriages  drive  is  so  very  small,  that  each  of  them 
completes  it  and  re-appears  in  about  five  minutes  ;  re- 
calling one's  juvenile  recollections  of  the  way  in  which 
half  a  dozen  pasteboard  horses  used  to  multiply  them- 
selves in  the  play  of  the  Forty  Thieves.  But  the 
charm  of  this  promenade  consists  in  the  splendid  pros- 
pect which  it  commands  on  every  side.  On  the  north 
and  east,  it  overlooks  the  varied  and  undulating  grounds 
of  the  Villa  Borghese,  with  their  fountains,  their  pic- 
turesque edifices,  and  the  walks  that  wind  and  turn 
under  broad  canopies  of  oaks  and  pines.  Beyond 
these,  a  superb  panorama  of  the  Campagna  and  the 
Sabine  and  Alban  hills  is  embraced  at  a  glance.  On 
the  west,  where  a  fine  terrace  is  formed  by  a  wall  en- 
closing three  sides  of  a  square,  the  view  comprises  the 
greater  part  of  the  modern  city  ;  including  the  Janicu- 
lum,  the  Vatican,  and  St.  Peter's,  and  the  regular  out- 
line of  Monte  Mario,  crowned  with  its  dark  line  of 
cypresses. 

The  fashionable  hour  of  resort  to  the  Monte  Pincio 
is  that  just  before  sunset.  At  this  time,  the  gravelled 
terrace  on  the  western  side  begins  to  be  thronged  with 
pedestrians.  Carriages  arrive  in  rapid  succession,  and 
wheeling  into  line,  move  round  in  an  unbroken  succes- 
sion, and  soon  are  brought  so  near  to  each  other,  that 
no  one  can  stop  without  deranging  the  economy  of  the 
whole  circle.  Nowhere  in  the  world  is  seen  a  greater 


42  MONTE   P1NCIO. 

variety  of  equipages  than  on  the  Pincio,  on  a  fine  win- 
ter's afternoon.  English  taste,  French  elegance,  and 
Roman  state  may  be  studied  in  vehicles  which  to  the 
instructed  eye  betray  their  origin  at  a  glance.  But 
these  occur  at  rare  intervals ;  the  rank  and  file  being 
composed  of  rickety  and  tumble-down  carriages,  which 
seem  old  enough  to  have  been  driven  by  Jehu  in  his 
nonage  —  groaning  and  shaking  so  dismally,  that  one 
expects  every  moment  to  see  them  give  up  the  ghost 
and  fall  to  pieces  on  the  spot,  and  drawn  by  horses 
which  look  like  the  rats  in  Cinderella,  arrested  half- 
way in  their  transformation.  Most  of  these  are  hack- 
ney coaches  hired  for  the  hour,  but  some  are  the 
private  property  of  decayed  families,  who  live  in  bond- 
age to  the  miserable  weakness  of  '  keeping  up  appear- 
ances.' Rome  is  said  to  be  the  paradise  of  priests,  the 
purgatory  of  foot-passengers,  and  the  hell  of  horses. 
Certainly  it  seems  to  be  a  city  of  refuge  for  worn-out 
steeds  and  a  hospital  for  decayed  carriages,  and  the 
last  -stage  of  both  may  be  observed  on  the  Monte 
Pincio. 

The  company  on  foot  forms  also  a  motley  and  mis- 
cellaneous assemblage.  Among  them  are  comely 
English  matrons  and  blooming  English  maidens,  at- 
tended by  gentlemen  in  shooting  jackets  and  gray 
trowsers,  with  that  air  of  intense  determination  which 
characterizes  the  sons  of  Albion,  all  the  world  over, 
when  engaged  in  the  solemn  service  of  taking  exercise 
—  French  and  German  artists  in  velvet  sacks,  fantastic 
hats,  and  unrazored  chins  —  and  a  few  Italians,  mostly 
young  men,  attracted  by  the  blue  eyes  and  golden 
locks  of  the  fair  Saxons  ;  for  the  Italians,  generally,  are 


MONTE    PINCIO.  43 

•  • 

not  a  peripatetic  race,  and  rarely  walk  for  the  sake  of 
walking.  Our  own  country,  too,  sends  its  representa- 
tives ;  the  gentlemen  being  known  by  a  dress  of 
finer  materials  and  smarter  cut ;  and  the  ladies,  by 
their  smaller  hands  and  feet,  their  lighter  movements, 
and  more  delicate  features.*  In  fine  weather,  children 
of  various  ages  may  be  seen  sporting  about  the  walks, 
and  animating  the  scene  with  their  lively  movements 
and  innocent  faces. 

There  is  probably  no  spot  on  earth  from  which  the 
spectacle  of  sunset  is  seen  to  greater  advantage  than 
from  the  Monie  Pincio,  when  we  take  into  account  the 
natural  beauty  of  the  panorama  and  the  sacred  light  of 
association  which  hallows  every  object  on  which  it  falls. 
When  the  air  is  clear,  and  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  the 
pines  of  the  Pamphili  Doria,  and  th^  cypresses  of  the 
Monte  Mario,  relieved  against  a  burnished  sky,  seem  to 
quiver  and  burn  in  golden  flame  —  when  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun  have  left  in  shadow  the  plains  and  valleys, 
and  linger  only  upon  the  domes  and  hills  —  there  is  no 
heart  so  impassive,  there  are  no  perceptions  so  dull  or 
worn,  as  to  resist  the  solemn  beauty  of  the  scene. 


*  Reumont,  in  his  '  Neue  Rb'mische  Briefe,'  written  some 
ten  years  since,  speaking  of  the  Pincian  Hill,  says,  '  The  boys 
in  the  streets  of  Rome  are  indifferent  to  strange  sights,  and 
but  little  attention  was  awakened  by  a  Yankee  curiosity,  who 
for  some  time  paraded  up  and  down  here  :  his  face  over- 
shadowed by  an  immense  red  beard  ;  in  a  black  velvet  frock 
lined  with  red,  and  adorned  with  shining  metal  buttons  and  a 
flowered  silk  collar;  a  gray  hat ;  a  red  cravat  ;  ruffles  to  his 
shirt ;  a  very  gay  waistcoat,  and  light-blue  pantaloons.'  Who 
could  this  apparition  have  been  ? 


44  MONTE   PINCIO. 

» 

The  most  listless  steps  are  arrested,  the  most  careless 
voices  are  hushed,  and  for  a  moment's  space,  at  least, 
all  acknowledge  the  genius  of  the  place  and  the  hour. 
For  some  days  in  the  winter,  the  setting  sun,  the  dome 
of  St.  Peter's  and  the  terrace  on  the  western  side  of  the 
hill,  are  in  the  same  line,  so  that  the  spectator  sees  the 
rays  shining  through  the  windows  in  the  drum  on  which 
the  dome  rests,  producing  a  fine  effect,  and  apparently 
cutting  off  the  dome  from  the  rest  of  the  structure  by  a 
glowing  zone  of  fire.  The  beams  of  a  setting  sun  form 
an  appropriate  light  to  the  landscape  which  is  seen  from 
the  terrace  of  the  Pincian  Hill.  The  sinking  orb  and 
the  declining  city  are  in  unison  with  each  other.  To 
each  belong  a  vanished  splendor,  a  glory  that  has 
passed,  a  power  that  is  gone.  Is  there  a  morning  for 
Rome  as  for  that  slow-descending  sun  ?  Will  she,  who 
has  twice  slid  from  a  zenith  of  pride  —  who  now  for 
the  second  time  is  shining  with  pensive  and  faded  light 
—  once  more  flame  upon  the  forehead  of  the  morning 
sky,  and  again  climb  up  the  great  vault  of  time  ? 

There  is  but  one  drawback  to  the  simple  and  ele- 
vating pleasures  which  a  walk  on  the  Pincian  Hill 
brings  with  it.  The  labor  of  taking  care  of  the  grounds 
is  performed  for  the  most  part  by  convicts,  in  their 
uncouth  dresses,  chained  together  two  by  two,  and 
guarded  by  soldiers  armed  with  loaded  muskets.  Such 
a  spectacle  was  a  hideous  shadow  upon  a  sunny  land- 
scape ;  painful  and  not  profitable  to  those  who  were 
compelled  to  witness  it,  and  hardening  and  degrading 
to  the  outcasts  thus  exposed  to  the  common  gaze. 


PIAZZA    NAVONA.  45 

PIAZZA    NAVONA. 

The  Piazza  Navona  is  an  irregular  area,  of  an  oblong 
shape,  about  eight  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  length,  and 
one  hundred  and  eighty  in  breadth.  The  most  con- 
spicuous object  in  it  is  an  immense  fountain  in  the 
centre,  which  is  one  of  the  heaviest  sins  against  good 
taste  that  ever  was  laid  upon  the  much-enduring  earth. 
In  the  midst  of  an  immense  circular  basin  huge  blocks 
of  stone  are  tumbled  together,  and  so  scooped,  hollowed 
and  indented  as  to  represent  the  natural  inequalities  of 
the  living  rock.  To  these  blocks  are  appended  four 
colossal  statues  in  marble,  embodying  four  great  rivers 
in  the  four  different  quarters  of  the  globe  ;  the  Danube, 
the  Nile,  the  Ganges,  and  the  La  Plata.  Below  the 
statues,  at  opposite  points  of  the  circular  basin,  are  a 
lion  and  a  seahorse,  also  in  marble.  The  whole  is 
crowned  by  an  obelisk  of  about  fifty  feet  high,  resting 
on  a  pedestal  of  about  sixteen.  The  entire  combina- 
tion is  a  cold  and  extravagant  allegory,  hardly  inferior 
in  absurdity  to  the  monument  to  Dr.  Arne,  where  he  is 
represented  playing  on  a  harpsichord  in  the  river 
Thames,  with  tritons  and  sea-nymphs  sporting  around 
him.  Nor  is  there  any  special  merit  in  the  execution 
of  the  statues,  to  awaken  a  forgiving  spirit  towards  the 
bad  taste  and  want  of  simplicity  in  the  design.  Mod- 
elled by  Bernini,  and  executed  under  his  direction,  they 
have  the  largest  measure  of  his  faults,  redeemed  by  the 
smallest  proportion  of  his  peculiar  merits.  They  are 
sprawling,  grotesque,  and  monstrous  ;  with  as  little 
dignity  about  them  as  the  giants  of  a  travelling  cara- 
van. Nothing,  however,  can  be  said  against  the  water 


46  PIAZZA   NAVONA. 

which  foams,  gushes,  and  leaps  from  every  part  of  the 
uncouth  structure,  in  streams  which  are  as  pure  as  they 
are  copious.  Its  curves  of  breaking  silver  and  its  voice 
of  mellow  music  plead,  and  not  unsuccessfully,  in  favor 
of  the  absurd  caricatures  which  it  embellishes.  There 
are  three  other  fountains  in  the  Piazza,  neither  of  which 
has  any  thing  remarkable  about  it ;  but  the  fact  of  there 
being  four  in  a  space  of  such  limited  extent,  is  worthy 
of  mention  as  shewing  the  copious  supply  of  water 
which  Rome  enjoys. 

In  the  Piazza  Navona  many  characteristic  traits  of 
Italian  life  and  manners  may  be  observed.  A  vege- 
table market  is  held  here  once  a  week,  attended  by  the 
country  people  from  the  neighborhood,  when  groups  of 
men  and  women  may  be  seen  all  over  its  surface, 
dressed  in  picturesque  costumes  and  engaged  in  bar- 
gaining and  chaffering,  in  the  most  animated  manner  ; 
for  Italians  put  more  of  discourse  and  gesture  into  the 
buying  of  a  cauliflower,  than  we  should,  into  the  buy- 
ing of  a  house.  The  Piazza  also  abounds  with  shops 
and  stalls  for  the  sale  of  all  sorts  of  second-hand  arti- 
cles, and  nowhere  elsp  have  I  ever  seen  such  quantities 
of  broken  pottery,  old  iron,  disabled  household  utensils, 
and  all  conceivable  kinds  of  trash  piled  together ; 
awakening  wonder,  at  every  step,  that  any  one  should 
ever  buy  such  rubbish,  or  could  put  it  to  any  use  when 
bought.  Here,  too,  are  shops  of  higher  pretensions, 
though  not  imposing  in  their  outward  appearance,  occu- 
pied by  dealers  in  pictures,  engravings,  cameos,  in- 
taglios, antique  gems,  and  the  like  ;  and  it  is  said  that 
those  who  have  time,  patience,  and  money,  will  some- 
times light  upon  very  good  bargains. 


THE   GHETTO.  47 

On  Saturdays  and  Sundays  in  the  month  of  August, 
the  sluices  which  carry  off  the  waters  of  the  great  foun- 
tain are  stopped,  and  all  the  central  portions  of  the 
Piazza  are  overflowed  to  the  depth  of  one  or  two  feet. 
The  populace  then,  obeying  that  impulse  which  draws 
all  living  things  towards  water  in  hot  weather,  rush  to 
the  temporary  lake  in  eager  crowds.  Horses,  oxen, 
and  donkeys  are  driven  into  the  cooling  waters  ;  vehi- 
cles of  all  kinds,  from  the  stately  coach  of  a  Roman 
principe  to  the  clumsy  wagon  of  a  contadino,  roll 
through  them  ;  equestrians  ride  through  them  carefully 
with  shortened  stirrups ;  and  boys,  with  bare  feet  and 
rolled-up  trowsers,  splash  their  elders  with  that  noisy 
satisfaction  which  their  Boston  contemporaries  manifest, 
when  a  wandering  snowball  hits  a  respectable  black 
coat  between  the  shoulders.  On  these  occasions,  the 
outer  margin  of  the  Piazza,  not  reached  by  the  water, 
and  especially  the  capacious  steps  of  the  Church  of  St. 
Agnes,  are  occupied  by  crowds  of  idlers  ;  the  windows 
of  the  shops  and  houses  are  filled  with  gay  faces  and 
bright  dresses,  and  the  whole  spectacle  is  described  by 
those  who  have  witnessed  it,  as  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able in  Rome. 


THE    GHETTO. 

As  regards  the  privileges  and  social  position  of  the 
Jews,  the  cities  of  Leghorn  and  Rome  present  two  ex- 
tremes. Nowhere  on  the  continent  are  they  better  off 
than  in  Leghorn ;  nowhere  are  they  worse  off  than  in 
Rome.  In  Leghorn,  there  is  little  or  nothing  to  wound 
their  sensibilities,  or  remind  them  of  the  ill-will  of  their 


48  THE    GHETTO. 

Christian  brethren  :  in  Rome,  the  iron  of  persecution 
and  insult  is  every  day  driven  into  their  souls.  Such 
are  the  different  results  of  the  wise  lessons  of  commerce 
and  the  exterminating  spirit  of  religious  bigotry. 

Previous  to  the  reign  of  Paul  IV.  who  was  made 
pope  in  May  1555,  the  position  of  the  Jews  in  the  Papal 
States  was  comparatively  favorable.  That  dark  and 
fervid  bigot,  whose  character  is  drawn  with  so  much 
life  and  vigor  by  Ranke,  launched  against  this  unhappy 
race,  in  the  first  year  of  his  power,  a  merciless  enact- 
ment. He  forbad  them  to  reside  in  any  other  place  in 
the  Papal  States  than  Rome  and  Ancona,  and  in  these 
cities  they  were  restricted  to  a  particular  region.  He 
compelled  them  to  wear  a  visible  badge  of  separation, 
which  for  rnen  was  a  yellow  hat,  and  for  women  a 
yellow  veil  or  handkerchief.  Jewish  physicians  were 
forbidden  to  prescribe  for  Christian  patients,  and  Jewish 
families  were  not  allowed  to  employ  Christian  servants. 
In  their  trades  and  occupations,  the-  Jews  were  also 
teased  and  injured  by  many  arbitrary  regulations. 

Since  that  time  the  Jews  in  Rome  have  been  re- 
stricted to  a  particular  quarter,  which  is  called  the 
Ghetto.  It  is  a  cluster  of  narrow  and  crooked  streets, 
bounded  on  one  side  by  the  Tiber,  and  situated  near 
the  island  where  the  river  makes  a  sudden  bend.  The 
ruins  of  the  Theatre  of  Marcellus,  the  Palazzo  Cenci, 
and  the  Piazza  delle  Tartarucche,  with  its  graceful 
fountain,  are  points  of  interest  along  the  line  which  di- 
vides it  from  the  rest  of  the  city.  It  is  accessible  by 
eight  gates,  which,  until  the  accession  of  the  present 
pontiff,  were  closed  from  Ave  Maria  till  sunrise. 

On  entering  the  enclosure,  the  aspect  of  the  place 


THE    GHETTO.  49 

and  its  inhabitants  leaves  an  uniform  impression  of 
poverty,  desolation,  and  filth.  The  streets  are  narrow, 
crooked,  and  dark  ;  the  houses,  which  have  a  look  of 
mouldy  decay,  are  crowded  with  life,  so  that,  in  fine 
weather,  the  occupants  swarm  out,  like  bees,  and  sit  on 
the  steps  or  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  the  door,  and 
there  pursue  their  usual  avocations.  There  are  many 
shops,  but  usually  of  a  humble  class.  The  Jewish  race 
is  here  seen  in  its  saddest  and  lowest  plight,  not  gilded 
by  even  a  ray  of  its  old  glories.  There  is  nothing  that 
betokens  the  existence  of  wealth  and  the  power  that 
wealth  bestows.  There  are  no  dignified  forms  :  no 
i  keen  and  penetrating  brows  :  none  of  those  beautiful 
children  who,  in  other  lands,  remind  the  Hebrews  of 
the  youth  of  their  nation  :  none  of  those  superb  black 
eyes  which  blend  the  passion  of  Judith,  the  softness  of 
Esther,  and  the  sadness  of  Rachel.  The  general 
countenance  is  commonplace  :  stamped  with  the  im- 
press of  sordid  cares  and  homely  occupations :  touched 
by  no  sparkles  of  pride  or  hope.  The  complexion 
seems  colorless  —  reminding  one  of  plants  that  have 
grown  in  the  dark  —  the  result  of  meagre  living,  dark 
abodes,  and  imperfect  ventilation.  The  imagination  of 
D'Israeli  would  find  nothing  here  suggestive  of  proud 
recollections  or  animating  hopes  ;  but  only  a  forlorn 
and  crushed  life,  which  dwells  in  the  petty  wants  and 
works  of  the  present,  and  borrows  no  dignity  from  the 
past  or  the  future. 

In  spite  of  the  disadvantages  under  which  the  Jews 
have  so  long  labored  at   Rome,  so   powerful  are   the  • 
cords  which  bind  us  to  our  place  of  birth,  or  so  com- 
pletely has  the  heart  of  enterprise  been  trampled  out  of 
VOL.  n.  4 


50 


THE    GHETTO. 


them  by  the  heel  of  oppression,  that  at  this  moment 
there  are  nearly  four  thousand  of  them  crowded  to- 
gether in  this  twisted  knot  of  streets,  where  of  sun  and 
air  they  have  not  enough,  and  of  water  only  too  much  ; 
being  always  the  first  and  greatest  sufferers  in  those 
frequent  inundations  by  which  the  Tiber  vindicates  its 
old  reputation  for  turbulence  and  insubordination.  The 
men,  excluded  from  most  attractive  callings,  are  gen- 
erally petty  shopkeepers,  pedlers,  and  dealers  in  old 
clothes  and  second-hand  articles.  The  women  have 
great  skill  in  mending  and  repairing  garments,  and  in 
this  craft  their  services  are  in  requisition  all  over  the 
city.  Many  of  them  give  themselves  to  higher  and 
finer  kinds  of  needle-work.  I  have  seen  pieces  of  lace 
so  rich  and  massive  that  they  seemed  rather  to  have 
been  carved  than  wrought,  which  were  the  fruit  of 
adventurous  exploring  expeditions  into  the  Ghetto,  and 
obtained  at  prices  which  were  pronounced  very  cheap, 
but  to  my  masculine  judgment  were  nothing  less  than 
awful. 

Among  the  other  disabilities  laid  upon  the  Jews  in 
Rome,  they  are  not  allowed  to  hold  real  estate  in  fee. 
Most  of  the  houses  in  the  Ghetto  are  owned  by  religious 
or  charitable  establishments,  and  the  tenants  are  so 
rarely  disturbed  that  their  interest  is  transmitted  or  as- 
signed like  any  other  property.  As  they  are  compelled 
to  live  within  certain  limits,  much  extortion  might  be 
practised  upon  them  in  the  way  of  rent,  by  short-sighted 
selfishness,  were  it  not  that  this  class  of  relations  has 
been  settled  by  a  sort  of  customary  law,  which  the  tri- 
bunals respect,  and  by  which  the  owners  of  houses  are 
not  allowed,  except  under  extraordinary  circumstances, 


THE    GHETTO.  51 

to  enhance  the  price  to  the  tenants  ;  a  measure  which, 
in  a  city  which  has/come  to  a  full  stop  like  Rome,  is 
both  just  and  politic. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  Carnival,  it  is  the  custom  for 
a  deputation  of  Jews  to  wait  upon  the  Senator  of  Rome, 
in  one  of  the  palaces  of  the  Capitol,  and  acknowledge 
a  sort  of  feudal  dependence  by  paying  a  small  sum  of 
money,  and  presenting  pieces  of  cloth  of  gold  and  sil- 
ver, of  velvet,  and  of  brocade.  These  are  distributed 
as  prizes  to  the  owners  of  the  successful  horses  in  the 
races  which  take  place  in  the  Corso,  on  the  closing 
days  of  the  Carnival.  By  a  bull  of  Gregory  XIII.  in 
the  year  1584,  all  Jews  above  the  age  of  twelve  years 
were  compelled  to  listen  every  week  to  a  sermon  from 
a  Christian  priest ;  usually  an  exposition  of  some  pas- 
sages of  the  Old  Testament,  and  especially  those  relat- 
ing to  the  Messiah,  from  the  Christian  point  of  view. 
This  burden  is  not  yet  wholly  removed  from  them,  and 
to  this  day,  several  times  in  the  course  of  a  year,  a 
Jewish  congregation  is  gathered  together  in  the  Church 
of  S.  Angelo  in  Pescheria,  and  constrained  to  listen  to 
a  homily  from  a  Dominican  friar,  to  whom,  unless  his 
zeal  have  eaten  up  his  good  feeling  and  his  good  taste, 
the  ceremony  must  be  as  painful  as  to  his  hearers.  In 
the  same  spirit  of  vulgar  persecution,  there  is  upon  the 
gable  of  a  church  opposite  one  of  the  gates  of  the 
Ghetto,  a  fresco  painting  of  the  Crucifixion,  and  under- 
neath an  inscription  in  Hebrew  and  Latin,  from  the 
second  and  third  verses  of  the  sixty-fifth  chapter  of 
Isaiah  —  'I  have  spread  out  my  hands  all  the  day  unto 
a  rebellious  people,  which  walketh  in  a  way  that  was 
not  good,  after  their  own  thoughts ;  a  people  that  pro- 
voketh  me  to  anger  continually  to  my  face.' 


52  THE    GHETTO. 

The  Ghetto  from  its  appearance,  its  filthy  and  narrow 
streets,  its  old  and  mouldering  houses  swarming  with  a 
population  whom  all  the  fountains  in  Rome  would  not 
be  able  to  wash  clean,  would  seem  to  be  the  very  hot- 
bed of  disease.  Here,  we  should  expect  to  find  all  the 
plagues  and  pestilences,  which  have  desolated  the  earth 
in  former  ages,  preserved  as  in  a  morbid  museum;  and 
here,  too,  we  should  look  to  have  new  forms  of  death 
invented  from  time  to  time.  But  the  reverse  is  the  fact. 
It  is  in  some  respects  the  healthiest  part  of  the  city.  It 
is  not  only  the  most  free  from  malaria,  but  when  the 
cholera  was  in  Rome  in  1837,  the  proportion  of  deaths 
was  less  there  than  elsewhere. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Campagna  — The  Appian  Way— Torre  di  Schiavi  —  Walks  in  the 
Campagua. 

THE     CAMPAGNA. 

THE  Campagna  di  Roma  is  the  name  of  a  region 
which  nearly  corresponds  to  the  ancient  Latium,  ex- 
tending from  the  mouth  of  the  Tiber  to  Terracina,  and 
from  the  sea  on  the  south-west  to  the  lower  ranges  of 
the  Apennines  on  the  north-east.  Its  length  is  about 
sixty-two  miles,  and  its  greatest  breadth  about  forty- 
five.  In  spite  of  its  name,  it  is  not  wholly  a  plain  ; 
but  is  divided  into  two  regions,  the  highlands  and  the 
lowlands.  But  the  term  Campagna  is  usually  applied 
to  the  lowlands  of  the  Tiber,  which,  strictly  speaking, 
are  known  as  1'Agro  Romano,  or  the  territory  of  the 
city  of  Rome,  comprising  about  four  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  acres. 

This  region,  the  Campagna  of  tourists  and  of  popu- 
lar speech,  may  be  likened  to  a  green  and  motionless 
sea,  of  which  the  Sabine  and  Volscian  Hills  are  coasts, 
and  in  which  the  Alban  Mount  is  an  island.  In  spite 
of  the  inexpressive  monotony  of  its  aspect  when  viewed 
from  a  distant  and  elevated  point  —  as  from  the  tower 


54  THE   CAMPAGNA. 

of  the  capital  or  the  heights  above  Frascati  —  it  is  a 
tract  of  wide  and  various  interest,  alike  to  the  geolo- 
gist, the  student  of  history,  the  artist,  and  the  political 
economist.  In  its  geological  formation,  it  is  deeply 
marked  with  the  indications  of  that  struggle  between 
the  elemental  forces  of  fire  and  water  which  so  many 
of  the  legends  of  the  mythological  period  dimly  shadow 
forth.  Even  to  an  uninstructed  eye,  it  is  obvious  that 
this  whole  plain  was  once  the  bed  of  a  deep  sea,  which 
washed  the  sides  of  the  Sabine  Hills,  and  when  lashed 
by  storms,  threw  its  spray  over  the  rocky  summit  of 
Monte  Cavi,  the  highest  point  of  the  Alban  Mount. 
Still,  however,  the  Campagna  is  more  of  volcanic  than 
of  marine  origin.  While  it  yet  lay  deep  under  a  waste 
of  waters,  it  was  the  scene  of  a  long  series  of  volcanic 
struggles  and  convulsions  which  are  traced  to  two  cen- 
tral points  or  foci ;  one  being  upon  the  Alban  Mount, 
and  the  other,  at  Monte  Cimino,  near  Viterbo.  The 
ashes  and  scoriae  discharged  from  these  volcanic  vents, 
disposed  in  layers  over  the  marine  deposits,  and  grad- 
ually consolidated  by  great  pressure,  now  appear  in 
the  several  varieties  of  piperino,  so  much  used  as  a 
building  material  in  the  early  structures  of  Rome. 
The  land  slowly  rose  :  the  fuel  of  the  subterranean 
fires  burnt  out :  and  now  another  agency,  that  of  fresh 
water,  was  introduced.  The  streams  which  drain  the 
Apennines  did  not  at  first  flow  into  the  sea,  but  spread 
themselves  out  into  lakes ;  remaining  long  enough  to 
deposit  not  only  strata  of  sand  and  marl,  but  also  those 
immense  quarries  of  travertine,  of  which  the  finest 
buildings,  as  well  as  the  most  interesting  ruins  in 
Rome,  are  constructed.  Thus,  the  Campagna  of  Rome 


THE   CAMPAGNA.  55 

is  a  vast  tablet  on  which  the  action  of  salt  water,  of 
fire,  and  of  fresh  water,  is  recorded  in  lines  which,  to 
the  scientific  eye,  are  as  legible  as  the  inscriptions 
which  proclaim  the  munificence  of  the  last  Pope. 

Rome,  peculiar  in  so  many  respects,  is  unlike  all 
other  European  cities  in  the  character  of  the  region 
which  lies  immediately  beyond  its  walls.  Its  suburbs 
are  not  gay  with  farms,  gardens,  country-houses,  and 
villages.  The  solitude  of  a  rural  region  is  not  reached 
by  slow  gradations,  nor  does  the  tide  of  population 
come  imperceptibly  to  an  end,  like  a  spent  wave  that 
dies  along  a  level  beach.  But  as  soon  as  the  gates  are 
passed,  we  come  upon  a  far-reaching  tract  of  monoto- 
nous desolation,  in  which  every  pulse  of  life  seems  to 
have  ceased  to  beat.  Far  as  the  eye  can  pierce,  it 
rests  upon  a  plain  of  dreary  and  sombre  verdure,  which 
extends  in  every  direction,  and  by  the  impressive  mel- 
ancholy of  its  scenery,  prepares  the  mind  of  the  travel- 
ler to  pass  into  the  solemn  shadow  of  Rome.  This 
plain  is  that  world-renowned  Campagna,  which  is  so  in- 
separably connected  with  the  ideal  image  of  Rome  — 
which  is  populous  with  so  many  visionary  forms  from 
the  regions  of  history  and  poetry,  vocal  with  so  many 
voices  of  wisdom  and  warning,  rich  in  the  most  solemn 
and  touching  memories,  and  charms  with  such  desolate 
and  tragic  beauty. 

To  the  artist,  the  Campagna  furnishes  an  inexhaus- 
tible field  of  interest,  alike  in  its  own  essential  features 
and  the  additions  made  by  the  hand  of  man.  An  im- 
mense plain,  sloping  by  imperceptible  descent  towards 
the  sea,  and  girdled  by  a  distant  belt  of  mountains, 
does  not  present  those  abrupt  transitions  and  animated 


56  THE    CAMPAGNA. 

contrasts,  which  make  the  most  striking  landscapes  ;  but 
it  is  a  region  rich  in  a  certain  pensive  beauty  which, 
from  whatever  point  it  may  be  viewed,  offers  sirnilar 
but  not  identical  points.  . 

Though  the  inequalities  of  the  surface  in  the  Cam- 
pagna  are  inconsiderable,  compared  with  its  extent  — 
though,  when  seen  from  a  distance,  they  disappear  to 
the  eye,  and  are  lost  in  a  level  expanse  of  verdure  — 
yet  the  region  is  not  by  any  means  an  absolute  plain, 
like  that  flat  dreary  table-land,  for  instance,  in  which 
Munich  is  situated.  The  traveller  who  explores  it  on 
'  foot  or  on  horseback  will  find  his  path  shortened,  and 
his  interest  kept  fresh  by  a  constant  undulation  of  sur- 
face, and  by  a  succession  of  objects  which,  in  their 
coloring  and  grouping,  present  ever-varying  pictures. 
Sometimes  the  road  abruptly  descends  into  a  hollow 
gorge  or  glen,  where  the  view  is  excluded  on  nearly 
all  sides  by  hills,  and  where  only  a  glimpse  can  be  had, 
through  a  single  vista,  of  the  snow-covered  summits  of 
.the  distant  mountains ;  sometimes  it  passes  over  a 
breezy  upland  from  which  a  wide  prospect  is  com- 
manded;  sometimes  it  winds  along  a  lateral  valley; 
sometimes  it  is  shouldered  on  either  hand  by  precip- 
itous cliffs,  which  seem  to  have  been  torn  apart  by 
violence,  and  in  their  sheer  sides  of  yellow  travertine, 
crowned  with  foliage,  offer  those  fine  combinations  of 
form  and  color  which  the  artist  loves  to  transfer  to  his 
sketch-book.  It  is  a  region  intersected  and  veined 
with  streams,  rivulets  and  threads  of  water,  and  dim- 
pled with  lakes,  pools,  and  fountains ;  some,  clear  as 
crystal,  some,  overgrown  with  mantling  verdure,  and 
some,  discolored  and  tainted  by  the  products  of  a  vol- 


THE    CAMPAGNA.  57 

canic  soil.  Through  the  whole,  the  Tiber  rolls  its 
sluggish  waves  as  slowly  as  if  burdened  by  the  weight 
of  the  memories  and  associations  which  it  bears  on  its 
bosom. 

Of  that  life  which  takes  root  and  is  fixed  per- 
manently to  the  soil,  there  is  little  or  none  in  the 
Campagna.  There  are  no  cottages,  with  patches  of 
garden-ground,  and  children  sporting  round  the  door; 
no  spacious  farm-houses  ;  no  sights  and  sounds  of  rural 
toil.  The  figures  which  are  indigenous  to  the  soil  are 
a  few  shepherds  with  cloaks  of  sheepskin,  attended  by 
suspicious-looking  dogs  of  dirty  white,  and,  here  and 
there,  a  mounted  herdsman  or  overseer,  armed  with  a 
long  lance,  whose  locks  and  cloak  stream  back  upon 
the  wind  as  he  rides,  and  whose  figure,  relieved  against 
the  distant  sky,  suggests  that  of  a  Bedouin  Arab.  But, 
in  general,  the  living  forms  are  only  those  which  are 
connected,  directly  or  indirectly,  with  the  neighboring 
city  —  an  artist  with  his  sketch-book;  a  fowler  shoot- 
ing birds  for  the  market ;  a  party  of  equestrians  whose 
fresh  complexions  and  firm  seat  betray  their  northern 
origin  ;  a  peasant  from  Velletri  or  Gensano  driving  a 
cart  laden  with  wine-casks ;  a  ponderous  wain  drawn 
by  gray  oxen  ;  a  tumble-down  and  ague-stricken  vet- 
tura,  bound  for  Albano  or  Tivoli,  crammed  with  life 
like  the  hold  of  a  slave-ship ;  and,  occasionally,  the 
smart  barouche  of  an  English  millionaire  or  the  heavy 
chocolate-colored  coach  of  a  cardinal,  perhaps  drawn 
up  by  the  side  of  a  road,  while  the  owner,  in  his  red 
stockings,  is  solemnly  pacing  up  and  down,  taking 
exercise. 

But  if  there  be  few  marks  of  man  and  his  works, 


58  THE    CAMPAGNA. 

the  life  of  nature  is  exuberant  and  abundant  all  over 
the  Campagna.  In  the  spring  and  early  summer,  it  is 
gay  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  wild  flowers  —  among 
which  the  red  poppy  predominates,  spreading  a  crim- 
son carpet  over  the  landscape.  The  many  kinds  of 
flowering  shrubs  which  grow  here  burst  into  bloom,  so 
that  the  air  is  filled  with  penetrating  odors,  and  the 
fresh  turf  is  so  strewed  with  blossoms  that  the  foot  can 
hardly  be  set  down  without  crushing  them.  This  is 
the  period  at  which  the  swarm  of  travellers  are  usually 
leaving  Rome  and  setting  off  upon  their  northern 
flight,  so  that  few  of  those  who  pass  the  winter  there 
ever  see  the  Campagna  in  its  vernal  attire,  of  which 
those  whojmve  witnessed  it  speak  with  the  most  vivid 
pleasure.  But  this  season  of  bridal  splendor  does  not 
last  long,  for  as  the  heats  of  summer  come  on,  the 
Campagna  lays  aside  its  flowery  mantle.  In  this  re- 
gion the  sleep  of  the  year  is  more  in  the  summer  than 
the  winter.  The  fierce  heats  of  July  and  August  have 
a  paralyzing  effect,  like  that  of  the  frost  and  snows  of 
a  northern  winter.  Then  the  rays  of  the  vertical  sun 
smite  the  earth  like  angry  blows,  the  cloudless  sky 
overhead  seems  a  huge  vault  of  glowing  brass,  and 
the  ground  is  so  hot  that  one  almost  expects  to  see  his 
shadow  curl  up  and  disappear  like  a  leaf  thrown  upon 
the  fire.  Then  the  flocks  and  herds  are  driven  into  the 
mountains,  the  buffaloes  retreat  to  the  swamps  or 
immerse  themselves  in  pools  of  water,  and  the  few 
inhabitants  who  are  compelled  to  remain  on  the  spot 
seek  a  shelter  in  caves  scooped  out  from  the  hill-sides, 
or  in  the  spacious  vaults  of  a  Roman  tomb.  Streams 
that  were  of  considerable  size  in  the  early  spring  en- 


THE   CAMPAGNA.  59 

tirely  disappear,  and  leave  only  an  unsightly  trough  oj 
earth  and  stones  to  mark  where  they  once  flowed. 
The  ground  splits  into  rifts  and  chasms ;  the  roads  are 
calcined  into  ashes ;  and  the  grass  is  burnt  to  the  color 
of  hay. 

But  the  rains  of  the  early  autumn  breathe  new  life 
into  this  fainting  region,  and  wake  it  from  its  long 
summer's  siesta.  A  quick,  luxuriant  growth  of  grass 
springs  up  ;  daisies  and  violets  start  from  the  turf;  and 
the  clematis  blooms  along  the  hedges.  The  flocks  and 
herds  return  to  their  pasturage  grounds  ;  the  labors  of 
agriculture  are  resumed  in  the  cultivated  portions ;  and 
the  Campagna  puts  on  all  the  life  that  ever  belongs  to 
it.  From  this  time  until  spring,  its  aspect  does  not 
materially  change.  Winter  here  is  not  the  absolute 
night  of  the  year  —  the  negation  and  reverse  side  of 
warmth  and  bloom  and  verdure  —  but  it  is  like  the 
silvery  twilight  of  a  high  northern  latitude  which  pro- 
longs till  midnight  something  of  the  glow  of  noon.  At 
no  period  of  the  year  could  a  botanist  walk  over  the 
Campagna  without  gathering  an  ample  and  living  har- 
vest from  its  abundant  flora.  The  turf  is  green  and 
fresh  under  the  feet ;  the  air  is  full  of  pleasant,  earthy 
odors;  in  warm  sunny  days,  the  lizards  dart  along 
the  hedges  and  around  the  margin  of  the  ponds ; 
insects  hum  in  the  air ;  and  in  the  morning,  the  lark 
springs  from  the  dewy  grass  and  sings  at  Heaven's 
gate.  The  snow  upon  the  tops  of  the  distant  moun- 
tains tells  us  that  it  is  winter,  but  in  the  sunny  and 
sheltered  hollows  it  is  often  warm  enough,  even  in 
January,  to  make  the  eye  rest  with  pleasure  upon  their 
dazzling  lines  of  cold. 


60  THE    CAMPAGNA. 

The  memorials  of  man,  which  stripe  and  dot  the 
Campagna,  are  in  harmony  with  the  character  of  the 
scenery,  and  calculated  to  deepen  the  impression  which 
its  peculiar  natural  features  make.  The  plain  is  a 
great  historical  palimpsest,  from  which  the  towns  and 
cities  of  a  subdued  race  have  been  expunged,  in  order 
to  make  room  for  the  proud  structures  of  a  conquering 
people,  which  now,  in  their  ruins,  are  no  more  than 
monuments  of  lost  power  and  memorials  of  faded 
glory.  The  most  striking  objects  upon  it  are  the 
long  lines  of  the  Claudian  and  Marcian  aqueducts, 
which  stretch  across  the  horizon  for  many  a  mile  — 
whose  arches,  in  various  stages  of  decay,  sometimes 
bare  and  sometimes  mantled  with  climbing  plants  and 
veiled  in  verdure,  blend  a  general  resemblance  with 
differences  in  detail.  There  are  no  structures  of  man's 
hand  which  are  woven  so  completely  into  the  landscape 
as  these  aqueducts  ;  and  the  relation  between  them  and 
the  soil  over  which  they  stride,  is  so  happy,  that  it 
probably  furnished  one  reason,  with  a  people  so  sensi- 
tive to  impressions  of  form,  for  erecting  them.  Nothing 
breaks  the  monotony  of  a  plain  more  agreeably  to  the 
eye  than  a  succession  of  arches,  high  enough  and  of 
sufficient  span  to  assume  an  imposing  character  when 
contemplated  singly.  How  admirably  the  aqueducts 
of  the  Campagna  are  suited  to  the  character  of  the 
scenery  of  which  they  form  a  part,  may  be  appre- 
hended by  imagining  the  far  inferior  effect  they  would 
produce  if  transported  to  the  neighborhood  of  Florence, 
and  how  much  of  their  present  dignity  would  be  lost  if 
they  were  seen  panting  up  those  steep  hills,  and  hurry- 
ing down  those  sheer  valleys,  constantly  dwarfed  and 


THE    APPIAN    WAY.  61 

overborne  by  natural  objects  of  grander  bulk  and  supe- 
rior height.  But  now  they  move  along  the  floor  of  the 
Campagna  as  a  stately  procession  moves  through  the 
piazza  in  front  of  St.  Peter's  ;  not  lost  in,  but  graced 
by  the  space  in  which  they  are  contained.  In  all 
points  of  view  they  are  beautiful  and  animating  objects, 
whether  we  contemplate  them  as  a  whole,  and  follow 
with  the  eye  the  decreasing  perspective  of  their  arches, 
till  in  the  far  distance  the  level  entablature  seems  to 
melt  into  the  earth  ;  or  whether,  standing  apart,  we 
mark  the  rounded,  portals  of  blue  which  each  arch  cuts 
out  of  the  sky,  and  thus  set  the  landscape  in  successive 
frames.  Just  in  proportion  as  these  aqueducts  have 
lost  in  usefulness,  they  have  gained  in  beauty.  The 
hand  of  time  and  the  mace  of  violence  —  which  have 
broken  their  formal  lines  and  shattered  the  smooth  ring 
of  their  arches,  which  have  made  nooks  and  hollows  for 
grass  and  wild  flowers  and  running  vines  to  take  root 
in  —  have  substituted  variety  for  uniformity,  and  added 
that  peculiar  charm  of  the  picturesque,  which  makes  an 
old  mill  or  a  ruined  bridge  more  attractive  to  painters 
than  when  in  a  perfect  state. 

THE    APPIAN    WAY. 

The  best  known  of  the  Roman  roads,  the  Appian 
Way,  stretches  across  the  Campagna  from  the  Porta 
San  Sebastiano,  and  since  the  draining  of  the  Pontine 
Marshes  by  Pius  VI.  forms  the  most  travelled  route  be- 
tween Rome  and  Naples.  In  some  places,  the  original 
pavement  is  laid  bare,  composed  of  massive  blocks  of 
volcanic  stone  so  strongly  and  compactly  laid  as  to  be 


W  THE    APPIAN    WAY. 

impervious  to  the  assaults  of  time.  Such  roads  could 
not  have  been  constructed,  unless  the  very  workmen 
who  wrought  upon  them  had  been  impressed  with  the 
idea  of  the  eternal  duration  of  Rome.  The  road,  on 
either  hand,  is  bordered  by  tombs  in  various  stages  of 
decay,  some  mere  masses  of  shapeless  brick-work, 
overgrown  with  ivy  and  other  climbing  plants,  most  of 
them  without  name  or  inscription,  but  some  identified 
by  the  investigations  of  antiquaries.  They  are  of  va- 
rious forms,  some  round,  some  square,  and  some  pyra- 
midal. Some,  of  larger  size  and  higher  pretensions 
than  common,  shew  remains  of  architectural  elevations, 
with  pediments,  columns,  or  pilasters.  They  are  built 
of  brick,  or  fragments  of  stone  bedded  in  cement,  or 
sometimes  blocks  of  piperino.  In  their  perfect  state, 
most  of  them  were  doubtless  more  or  less  sheathed 
with  travertine  and  marble,  and  adorned  with  bas- 
reliefs  ;  but  these  have  passed  away,  and  we  have  only 
the  interior  kernel,  the  chief  materials  of  which  offered 
no  temptation  to  avarice  or  rapacity.  Many  of  them 
are  of  considerable  size,  and  are  resorted  to  by  the 
shepherds  of  the  Campagna  for  shelter  in  bad  weather, 
and  some  are  used  as  places  of  temporary  habitation. 
Among  these  monumental  erections  the  tomb  of  Cecilia 
Metella  towers  aloft  in  conspicuous  and  imposing  gran- 
deur. It  is  a  circular  tower  of  travertine,  about  seventy 
feet  in  diameter,  resting  upon  a  square  basement.  The 
blocks  of  which  the  circular  portion  is  composed  are  of 
immense  size,  skilfully  laid  and  admirably  fitted  with- 
out the  aid  of  cement,  and  nowhere  can  one  see  a  more 
striking  image  of  solidity  and  endurance  than  those 
massive  stones  present.  Time  has  not  even  brushed 


THE    APPIAN   WAY.  t>3 

or  roughened  them  in  the  lapse  of  nineteen  centuries, 
and  the  courses  of  masonry  are  as  smooth  and  bright  as 
on  the  day  on  which  they  were  laid.  This  structure, 
reared  by  the  gentlest  and  purest  of  feelings  —  the 
affection  of  a  husband  for  the  memory  of  a  wife  —  did 
not  pass  through  the  contests  of  the  middle  ages  with- 
out having  the  seal  of  war  set  upon  its  front.  It  was 
converted  into  a  fortress  in  the  thirteenth  century,  and 
the  unsightly  and  incongruous  battlements  on  the  top 
still  prolong  the  record  of  the  profanation. 

The  Roman  custom  of  burying  the  dead  along  their 
roads  led  to  strange  proximities  and  incongruous  juxta- 
positions. Our  modern  sense  of  propriety  would  be 
disturbed  by  seeing  a  race-course  by  the  side  of  a 
cemetery  ;  yet,  near  to,  almost  overshadowed  by  the 
tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  are  the  remains  of  the  Circus 
of  Romulus,  the  best  preserved  of  all  such  structures 
that  have  come  down  to  us.  Here  the  fervid  and  vig- 
orous animal  life  of  Rome  put  forth  its  trained  energies, 
perhaps  all  the  more  earnestly  from  the  silent  admoni- 
tion of  that  sepulchral  tower,  recalling  the  dark  presence 
whose  touch  was  destined  to  stiffen  into  clods  those  elastic 
and  obedient  muscles.  It  was  not  of  the  largest  size  — 
although  it  held  eighteen  thousand  spectators  —  but  it 
is  valued  by  the  students  of  the  past,  from  the  fact  of 
its  still  preserving  traces,  more  or  less  distinct,  of  all 
the  various  parts  of  which  a  circus  was  composed.  For 
much  of  this  knowledge,  the  learned  world  is  indebted 
to  an  extensive  series  of  excavations  made  in  1825  by 
the  Duke  of  Bracciano,  the  owner  of  the  soil,  by  which 
much  curious  matter  was  brought  to  light.  A  man's 
natural  pride  of  ownership  must  be  somewhat  enhanced 


64  THE   APPIAN   WAT. 

when  he  sees  the  item  of  a  Eoman  Circus  upon  the  in- 
ventory of  his  estate  ;  though  few  would  wish  to  turn 
over  to  the  plough  a  soil  so  fruitful  in  associations. 

Many  other  points  and  localities  of  interest  lie  along 
the  Appian  Way,  or  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  such  as 
the  church  of  Domine  quo  Vadis,  the  valley  of  Egeria 
already  described,  and  the  Basilica  of  San  Sebastiano, 
much  visited  for  the  sake  of  its  catacombs.  Just  before 
reaching  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  the  road  ascends 
by  a  steep  acclivity,  and  passes  over  a  remarkable 
stream  of  lava,  which  flowed  from  the  extinct  volcano 
on  the  Alban  Mount.  This  elevated  position  com- 
mands a  very  extensive  prospect  on  every  side,  and 
enables  the  traveller  to  observe  the  characteristic  fea- 
tures of  the  Campagna  to  great  advantage.  About 
five  miles  from  Rome  is  a  mass  of  brick  ruins,  known 
popularly  by  the  name  of  Roma  Vecchia,  and  supposed 
by  Prof.  Nibby  to  be  the  remains  of  a  villa  of  the 
Emperor  Commodus.  It  was  not  far  from  this  spot 
that  the  memorable  interview  between  Coriolanus  and 
his  mother  is  said  to  have  taken  place  ;  and  in  this 
neighborhood  the  scene  of  the  combat  of  the  Horatii 
and  Curiatii  is  to  be  sought.  We  know  that  these 
names  and  these  events  are  but  shadows,  like  the  ac- 
tors and  revels  with  which  Prospero  entertained  his 
guests  before  he  had  doffed  his  magic  robes,  but  we 
may  apply  to  the  legendary  history  of  early  Rome  that 
strain  of  argument,  not  more  beautiful  than  true,  with 
which  Max  Piccolomini  justifies  and  explains  the  astro- 
logical pursuits  of  Wallenstein. 

'  A  deeper  import 

Lurks  in  the  legend  told  my  infant  years 
Than  lies  upon  that  truth  we  live  to  learn.' 


THE   APPIAN    WAY.  65 

Dreams  and  shadows  have  a  language  and  a  beauty  of 
their  own.  Our  interest  in  the  localities  associated 
with  the  name  of  Coriolanus  no  more  dies  when  we 
know  that  the  whole  narrative  is  but  an  airy  legend, 
than  does  the  charm  of  the  Winter's  Tale,  when  we 
have  learned  that  Bohemia  has  no  sea-coast,  and  that 
the  events  of  the  drama  are  thus  rendered  impossible. 
Niebuhr  was  himself  a  man  of  deep  feeling  and  vivid 
imagination,  and  no  one  was  ever  more  alive  to  the 
just  significance  of  those  legends  which,  with  gentle 
and  reverent  hands,  he  removed  from  the  domain  of 
history.  Over  this  region  of  the  Campagna  a  light  still 
hangs,  more  beautiful  than  its  golden  mists  or  the 
purple  shadows  that  lie  upon  its  distant  hills.  The 
spirit  of  the  past  dwells  here,  and  breathes  over  the 
landscape  the  consecrating  gleams  of  valor,  patriotism, 
and  filial  duty. 

Between  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella  and  the  ruins 
of  Roma  Vecchia  —  a  distance  of  about  two  miles  and 
a  half —  Sir  William.  Gell  noted  fifty-one  tombs  on  the 
right,  and  forty-two  on  the  left  of  the  road  ;  and  he 
adds,  that,  doubtless,  many  more  exist.  From  this  fact 
we  may  surmise  how  numerous  these  structures  must 
have  been  along  the  Appian  Way,  in  the  flourishing 
periods  of  Rome  ;  especially  in  those  portions  lying 
Bearer  to  the  city.  Near  Roma  Vecchia  is  a  large  cas- 
tellated farm-house,  built  entirely  from  the  plunder  of 
ancient  tombs.  Manifold  are  the  uses  of  the  dead  to 
the  living.  Mummies  are  split  up  to  boil  the  tea-kettle 
of  a  travelling  Englishman,  and  a  Roman  peasant 
sleeps  in  the  tomb  of  the  Metelli. 


66  TORRE    DI    SCHIAVI. 

TORRE    DI     SCHIAVI. 

One  of  the  most  picturesque  and  interesting  points  of 
the  Campagna,  is  an  elevation  about  three  miles  from 
the  Porta  Maggiore,  on  the  road  to  Gabii ;  commonly 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Torre  di  Schiavi,  upon 
which  are  some  ruins  of  a  villa  of  the  Emperor  Gor- 
dian.  The  ruins  themselves  have  little  either  of  beauty 
or  expression.  They  consist  of  two  principal  structures, 
both  built  of  brick  ;  one,  round  and  tapering  like  a  light- 
house, the  other,  octagonal.  They  are  near  together, 
and  have  a  sort  of  family  likeness.  There  are,  in 
each,  niches  hollowed  in  the  walls,  and  rounded  aper- 
tures for  the  admission  of  light.  The  purpose  and 
meaning  of  these  buildings  are  not  distinctly  known. 
The  ground  in  their  immediate  neighborhood  is  thickly 
strewn  with  smaller  fragments.  But  though  these  ruins 
are  not  much  in  themselves,  they  are  so  happily  placed 
that  they  form  a  favorite  subject  for  artists.  They  are 
on  the  circular  summit  of  a  beautiful  elevation,  and  the 
ground  about  them  slopes  and  falls  away  in  softly- 
undulating  curves  and  sweeps,  the  lines  flowing  into 
each  other  by  gentle  gradations,  like  the  limbs  of  a 
marble  Apollo.  But  the  chief  charm  of  the  spot  con- 
sists in  the  unrivalled  beauty  of  the  distant  view  which 
it  commands  ;  revealing,  as  it  does,  all  the  character^ 
istic  features  of  the  Campagna.  On  the  extreme  left 
towers  the  solitary  bulk  of  Soracte,  a  hermit  mountain, 
which  seems  to  have  wandered  away  from  its  kindred 
heights,  and  to  live  in  remote  and  unsocial  seclusion. 
On  the  right,  dividing  it  from  the  Sabine  chain,  is  the 
narrow  lateral  valley  of  the  Tiber  ;  and  further  on,  the 


TORRE    DI    SCHAIVI.  67 

horizon  is  walled  up  by  the  imposing  range  of  the  Sa- 
bine  Hills,  whose  peaks,  bold,  pointed,  and  irregular, 
have  the  true  mountain  grandeur,  and  claim  affinity 
with  the  great  central  chain '  of  the  Apennines.  Con- 
spicuous among  them  are  Monte  Gennaro,  whose  morn- 
ing shadows  fell  upon  the  modest  farm  of  Horace,  and 
the  lofty  summit  of  Monte  Guadagnolo.  Many  towns 
and  villages  are  picturesquely  perched  along  the  pointed 
elevations  of  this  range,  and  in  the  foreground,  spark- 
ling like  a  jewel  on  a  giant's  breast,  is  Tivoli,  near 
which  the  headlong  Anio  breaks  through  its  mountain 
gates  and  bounds  into  the  Campagna.  A  very  narrow 
plain  divides  the  Sabine 'Hills  from  the  Alban  Mount, 
whose  softer  and  gentler  elevations  present,  as  com- 
pared with  the  sterner  and  bolder  line  of  the  neighbor- 
ing range,  a  certain  character  of  feminine  beauty.  Still 
turning  to  the  right,  the  slopes  of  the  Alban  Mount  pass 
into  the  level  surface  of  the  Campagna,  along  which 
the  eye  glides,  till  the  plain  blends  with  the  shining 
mirror  of  the  Mediterranean. 

The  Torre  di  Schiavi,  on  one  day  in  the  year,  is  dis- 
turbed from  its  usual  propriety  of  solitude  and  silence. 
It  is  the  custom  of  the  German  artists  resident  in  Rome 
to  make  this  spot  the  scene,  or  rather  the  starting- 
point  of  an  annual  spring  festival ;  combining  the  char- 
acter of  a  picnic  and  a  masquerade.  Here  is  their 
place  of  rendezvous  in  the  morning,  and  of  gathering 
for  their  return  in  the  evening.  Here  their  first  and 
last  songs  are  sung,  and  the  edicts  of  their  leader  are 
promulgated.  On  these  occasions,  the  waste  region 
puts  on  the  gayest  aspect,  and  blossoms  like  a  bed  of 
tulips.  Some  of  the  artists  come  in  carriages,  some  on 


68  WALKS    IN   THE    CAMPAGNA. 

horseback,  and  some  on  donkeys.  The  number  and 
variety  of  the  costumes  surpass  the  wildest  visions  of 
an  inspired  tailor.  Every  garment  that  ever  was  shaped 
or  painted,  from  a  Roman  toga  to  an  hussar's  jacket  ; 
hats  of  all  possible  forms,  colors,  and  decorations  ;  and 
forests  of  gay  banners  enliven  the  scene.  The  day  is 
spent  in  the  wildest  and  most  exuberant  frolic  ;  rarely 
or  never,  however,  degenerating  into  vulgar  license  or 
coarse  excess,  but  preserving  the  flavor  of  wit  and  the 
spice  of  genuine  enthusiasm. 

/ 

WALKS    IN    THE-  CAMPAGNA. 

Some  of  my  most  agreeable  recollections  of  Rome 
are  associated  with  long  walks  over  the  Campagna, 
sometimes  extending  through  a  large  part  of  the  day, 
especially  towards  the  end  of  winter  and  the  beginning 
of  spring.  At  this  season,  in  sunny  weather,  there  is  a 
mixture  of  softness  and  elasticity  in  the  air  of  Rome 
which  makes  exercise  agreeable,  and  prevents  it  from 
being  exhausting  ;  nor  is  there  any  fear  of  an  east 
wind's  setting  in  to  blight  the  heated  frame  with  deadly 
chills.  Then  the  Campagna  opens  wide  its  arms  of 
invitation,  and  offers  the  freshest  of  turf,  the  brightest  of 
skies,  and  the  gentlest  of  airs  ;  and  it  is  indeed  '  sullen- 
ness  against  nature  '  to  resist  the  call.  There  is  always 
variety  enough  to  supply  the  senses  with  perpetual  in- 
terest, and  keep  the  powers  of  observation  in  a  state  of 
healthy  activity,  so  that  if  weariness  comes,  it  comes 
unawares.  Besides  the  ruins,  the  aqueducts,  the  rich 
forms  of  vegetable  life,  the  ever-changing  surface  of 
the  soil,  there  are,  especially  at  this  season,  the  finest 


' 


WALKS    IN    THE    CAMPAGNA.  6y 

atmospheric  effects  to  be  seen,  from  the  great  extent  of 
space  over  which  the  eye  ranges  at  a  glance.  No- 
where do  clouds  play  a  more  imposing  part,  or  present 
a  more  glorious  shew,  than  on  this  boundless  plain. 
How  beautifully  they  lie  along  the  furrows  of  the  hills, 
or  cluster  round  their  sides,  as  if  conscious  of  the  grace 
they  shed  !  With  how  stately  a  pace  they  wheel  across 
the  vault  of  blue,  their  shadows  passing  over  the  land- 
scape like  a  rippling  breeze  over  a  mountain  lake !  With 
what  pride  they  rear  their  snowy  pavilions,  and  extend 
the  long  line  of  their  airy  architraves !  With  what  pu- 
rifying and  dazzling  power  the  sun  smites  upon  their 
glittering  edges,  and  into  what  lovely  outlines  the  slow 
winds  carve  their  marble  whiteness  !  The  low  -line  of 
the  coast  is  sometimes  hidden  in  wreaths  of  vapor  while 
the  uplands  are  in  sunshine  ;  purple  mists  lie  upon  the 
distant  heights  ;  or  a  sudden  shower  breaks  from  a  rain- 
cloud,  far  enough  off  to  permit  the  spectacle  to  be 
enjoyed  in  calm  security.  It  is  a  peculiarity  also 
observable  on  the  Campagna  —  that  while  it  is  rarely 
absolutely  calm,  the  wind  is  hardly  ever  blustering  and 
clamorous.  The  breeze  has  a  caressing  quality,  which 
may  be  felt  but  not  described.  It  does  not  seem  to 
blow  from  any  one  point,  but  to  stir  the  air  like  the 
motion  of  a  wing.  In  walking,  it  is  hardly  observed  ; 
but  when  we  pause  to  rest,  it  comes  upon  us  like  a 
ministering  presence  to  fan  the  brow  and  refresh  the 
senses.* 

*  The  unfrequency  of  high  winds  seems  to  be  a  peculiarity 
in  the  climate  of  Italy.  I  hardly  remember  what  we  should 
call  a  windy  day,  during  the  whole  of  my  residence  in  Rome. 
This  was  quite  striking  to  one  born  and  reared  on  the  coast  of 


70  WALKS    IN    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

After  these  long  golden  days  of  ramble  and  rest  in 
the  Campagna,  the  architectural  forms  of  Rome,  seen 
in  the  mellow  light  of  the  setting  sun,  gave  to  the  eye 
a  fresh  sense  of  beauty  —  the  straight  line  of  its  walls 
and  houses,  the  graceful  curve  of  its  domes  and  clus- 
tering of  its  towers,  relieving  the  sight,  after  the  un- 
broken expanse  of  the  Campagna,  as  a  burst  of  music 
after  long  stillness.  In  the  evening  it  was  pastime 
enough  to  recall  the  pictures  of  the  day,  and  to  com- 
pare them  with  the  sketches  of  an  artist  or  the  de- 
scriptions of  a  traveller.  With  just  enough  of  fatigue 
in  the  frame  to  enhance  the  enjoyment  of  repose,  the 
mind,  tranquil  and  not  restless,  received  and  returned 
the  images  thrown  upon  it,  unwarped  by  the  irritating 
influences  of  a  day  of  over-action.  Conversation  flow- 
ed namrally,  like  a  mountain-rill  in  its  rocky  bed,  and 
not  like  the  jet  that  is  toilsomely  wrung  from  the  spout 
of  a  forcing-pump.  And  if  there  was  music  to  fill  up 
the  pauses  of  speech,  the  grace  and  grandeur  of  the 
scenes  we  had  just  left  were  in  perfect  unison  with  the 
deep-hearted  and  impassioned  strains  of  Bethooven  or 
Schubert,  and  the  language  they  addressed  to  the  ear 
renewed  and  deepened  the  impressions  which  the  eye 
had  brought  home.  We  seemed  to  hear  again  the 
breezes  sighing  among  the  pines  of  the  Campagna,  or 

New  England,  where  the  air  is  never  still.  In  Rome,  the 
visits  of  the  wind  are  like  those  of  a  sympathizing  friend,  but 
with  us  they  are  like  the  calls  of  an  importunate  and  intrusive 
creditor.  Mr.  Rose,  in  his  entertaining  '  Letters  from  the 
North  of  Italy,'  remarks  upon  the  windless  character  of  the 
climate  of  the  country,  and  states  that  he  had  never  seen  a 
windmill  in  Italv. 


WALKS    IN    THE    CAMPAGNA.  71 

sweeping  across  the  broken  arches  of  the  Claudian 
aqueduct.  The  melancholy  beauty  of  the  region  we 
had  traversed  appeared  to  live  again  in  the  composer's 
dreamy  and  ideal  chords,  and  like  that,  they  seemed 
darkened  with  the  shadow  of  vanished  hopes,  and 
strewn  with  the  fragments  of  shattered  ideals. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

THE  Campagna  presents  other  aspects  besides  those 
which  have  been  considered.  Neither  the  artist  nor 
the  idealist  hold  the  whole  of  life  in  his  grasp.  We 
have  no  right  to  look  upon  a  landscape  only  as  a  pic- 
ture, or  to  view  it  merely  as  a  harvest- field  for  dreamy 
emotions  or  fine  visions.  When  from  any  elevated 
point  we  survey  a  wide-extended  tract  of  country,  the 
considerations  which  are  first  in  importance  are  those 
growing  out  of  the  relation  of  humanity  to  the  soil  on 
which  we  gaze.  Who  are  the  men  that  till  these 
broad  plains,  these  sunny  hill-sides,  and  these  shaded 
valleys  ?  For  whom  are  those  gulden  harvests  waving, 
and  into  whose  laps  will  these  ripening  fruits  fall  ? 
Does  this  fair  landscape  support  a  rnanly,  an  intelli- 
gent, a  virtuous  people  ?  or  does  it  yield  only  a  mis- 
erable pittance  to  a  population  wasted  by  hopeless  toil 

*  The  authorities  to  whom  I  have  been  chiefly  indebted  in 
the  preparation  of  this  chapter  are,  Tournon,  Etudes  Statistiques 
sr.r  Rome  :  Sismondi,  Etudes  sur  1'Economie  politique  :  Reu- 
mont,  Roemische  Briefe  ;  Neue  Roemische  Briefe. 


AGRICULTURE    OF   THE   CAMPAGNA.  73 

and  paralyzed  by  poverty  ?  Do  we  see  the  sparkle  of 
self-respect  in  the  laborer's  eye,  or  the  sullen  and  sus- 
picious glances  of  ff  slave  ?  Has  some  enormous  capi- 
talist spread  his  title-deeds  over  the  whole  horizon, 
or  is  the  soil  divided  into  modest  proprietorships,  so 
that  the  heart  of  the  owner  may  pass  into  the  sod 
which  he  tills,  and  love  lighten  the  burden  of  labor  ? 
To  overlook  all  these  relations,  to  surrender  ourselves, 
without  question  or  protest,  to  the  magic  of  lovely 
scenery,  in  spite  of  the  shadow  of  human  suffering 
which  may  rest  upon  it,  is  to  admire  'the  plumage  and 
forget  the  dying  bird.' 

Bonstetten  says,  that  if  the  statue  of  Rome  which 
surmounts  the  tower  of  the  Capitol  had  human  sympa- 
thies and  could  feel  its  position,  its  lot  would  have  been 
most  pitiable  and  forlorn,  doomed  as  it  has  been,  for 
so  many  centuries,  to  survey  the  dreary  waste  which 
on  all  sides  surrounds  the  walls  of  the  imperial  city. 
I  have  before  remarked  upon  the  depopulation  of  the 
Campagna  —  how  bare  it  is  of  permanent  habitations 
—  how  its  waste  regions  never  ring  with  the  cheerful 
sounds  of  human  industry — and  how  a  shroud  of  death- 
like silence  seems  extended  over  its  hills  and  valleys. 
In  regard  to  their  respective  suburbs  and  neighbor- 
hoods, the  city  of  Rome  and  the  city  of  Boston  stand 
at  opposite  points  of  a  scale.  Rome  is  a  walled  city, 
and  so  is  Boston ;  but  one  is  walled  by  water,  and  the 
other,  by  stone.  The  boundaries  of  our  peninsula  are 
as  well  defined  as  those  which  are  traced  by  the  gates 
of  Rome.  But  Boston  is  remarkable  as  being  the 
nucleus  and  core  of  a  population  thickly  clustered 
around  it  in  every  direction  ;  so  that  is  as  hard  to 


74  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

say  where  the  city  really  ends  and  the  country  really 
begins,  as  to  draw  the  dividing  line  between  two  colors 
on  a  sunset  sky.  Within  a  circle  of  the  radius  of  five 
miles  drawn  from  the  State-House  as  a  centre,  the 
number  of  inhabitants  outside  of  Boston  will  be  found 
to  be  not  much  less  than  that  of  those  within.  How 
infinitely  complicated  and  extensive  are  the  relations 
between  the  city  and  its  suburbs,  may  be  fully  felt  by 
any  one  who  will  stand  for  an  hour  upon  one  of  our 
bridges,  either  at  the  beginning  or  the  close  of  the 
day  —  or  watch  the  coming  and  going  of  the  early 
and  late  railway  trains.  It  is  a  system  of  mutual  help 
and  mutual  dependence.  There  are  many  branches 
of  business  in  the  city,  the  prosperity  and  even  exist- 
ence of  which  rest  upon  the  support  drawn  from  the 
country ;  and  multitudes  of  men  and  women  whose 
bread  is  derived  from  the  same  source.  The  city  is  a 
centre  of  distribution,  from  which  innumerable  radii 
diverge  in  every  direction.  It  is  a  network  of  relation, 
with  lateral  and  convergent  threads  crossing  and  re- 
crossing  each  other,  and  forming  an  organic  whole 
sensitive  in  every  part.  We  may  imagine,  but  we  can 
hardly  calculate,  the  desolation  and  blight  which  would 
fall  upon  Boston,  were  that  flourishing  belt  of  towns 
and  villages  with  which  it  is  now  girded,  suddenly 
swept  away  from  the  face  of  the  landscape,  and  the 
whole  range  of  country  visible  from  the  top  of  the 
State-House  wore  the  dreary  monotony  of  the  flat 
marshes  between  Chelsea  and  Lynn. 

What  Boston  would  be  under  so  appalling  a  change, 
Rome  substantially  is.  After  passing  by  its  suburban 
villas,  and  those  various  structures,  ecclesiastical  and 


AGRICULTURE    OF   THE   CAMPAGNA.  75 

secular,  which  as  much  belong  to  it  as  if  they  were 
included  within  the  walls,  we  come  upon  the  solitude 
of  nature.  There  are  none  of  these  distinct  commu- 
nities which  are  at  once  independent  in  themselves, 
and  yet  connected  with  the  metropolis  by  the  strong 
tie  of  mutual  interest.  Farm-houses,  or  casali  as  they 
are  called,  are  scattered  over  the  plain,  often  composed 
of  several  buildings  of  massive  structure,  clustered 
round  a  court-yard  —  sometimes  defended  by  a  battle- 
mented  wall  and  a  towered  gateway,  and  presenting 
an  appearance  at  once  imposing  and  picturesque  —  but 
these  are  no  more  than  islets  of  life,  in  a  sea  of  deso- 
lation and  silence.  For  many  miles  around  Rome 
there  are  few  or  no  spots  which  are  hallowed  to  human 
beings  by  the  sacred  associations  of  home ;  where 
lovers  have  exchanged  their  vows ;  where  the  solitary 
have  been  set  in  families ;  where  children  have  been 
born,  where  life  has  gladdened,  and  death  has  sancti- 
fied the  mute  forms  of  nature. 

It  was  not  always  so.  In  the  early  periods  of  Ro- 
man history  the  whole  Campagna  swarmed  with  life, 
and  was  the  seat  of  numerous  independent  communi- 
ties, who  cultivated  their  several  parcels  of  soil  with 
industry,  and  defended  them  with  valor.  Rome  was 
nearly  four  hundred  years  in  subduing  these  little  com- 
monwealths, and  succeeded  only  by  the  exercise  of 
indomitable  courage  and  the  most  obstinate  perse- 
verance. The  struggle  with  Veii  in  particular,  the 
site  of  which  was  only  ten  miles  distant,  was  a  struggle 
of  life  and  death ;  and  it  cost  a  siege  of  ten  years  to 
put  down  a  city  the  wal^  of  which,  in  a  clear  day, 
could  be  seen  from  the  Capitol.  The  training  which 


76  AGRICULTURE    OF   THE    CAMPAGNA. 

was  the  fruit  of  this  desperate  and  long-continued 
strife  prepared  Rome  for  its  future  career.  The  con- 
quest of  the  world  was  comparatively  easy,  after  that 
of  Latium  had  been  achieved.  But  the  depopulation 
of  the  Campagna  was  not  the  immediate  result  of  its 
passing  into  the  possession  of  Rome ;  for  it  was  the 
policy  of  the  Romans  to  mingle  their  own  blood  with 
that  of  the  communities  which  they  conquered,  taking 
part  of  their  lands,  opening  a  vent  to  their  own  redun- 
dant population,  and  thus  at  once  extending  and  con- 
solidating their  empire. 

The  evil  which  now  broods  over  the  Campagna 
rests  upon  it  with  the  accumulated  weight  of  centuries. 
The  causes  of  its  gradual  depopulation  are  kindred 
with  those  which  led  to  the  decline  and  fall  of  the  Ro- 
man empire  itself.  They  are  to  be  found  in  that 
grasping  spirit  of  the  favored  classes  against  which  so 
many  agrarian  laws  were  directed;  in  the  power  of 
property  to  attract  property ;  and  in  the  prevalence  of 
a  system  by  which  enormous  estates  were  gathered 
into  a  few  hands,  while  the  mass  of  the  commuuity 
was  doomed  to  a  depth  of  poverty  which  was  fatal  to 
virtue,  because  fatal  to  hope.  The  emphatic  and  often- 
quoted  words  of  the  elder  Pliny  '  verum  confitentibus 
latifundia  perdidere  Italiam,  imo  et  provincias,'  explain 
the  desolation  of  the  Campagna.  The  influences  which 
we  have  enumerated  had  begun  to  exert  an  unfavora- 
ble effect  upon  it,  before  the  fabric  of  Roman  great- 
ness had  felt  the  touch  of  decay.  In  the  closing  days 
of  the  republic,  the  land  was  held  in  large  portions  by 
wealthy  proprietors,  whos^villas  were  scattered  along 
the  sea-coast  and  the  favorable  situations  of  the  inte- 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA.  77 

rior;  but  wide  tracts  were  left  untilled  and  unoccupied, 
and  both  Cicero  and  Livy  allude  to  the  unhealthiness 
of  its  lowlands.  These  evils  increased  with  the  de- 
clining fortunes  of  the  Western  empire,  and  when  the 
successive  hordes  of  Northern  invaders  laid  waste  the 
Campagna,  and  blotted  out  whatever  of  life  yet  clung 
to  the  soil,  they  only  completed  a  work  of  destruction 
which  had  long  been  going  on. 

The  history  of  the  Campagna  during  the  middle 
ages  is  but  a  record  of  the  disasters  and  devastations 
of  the  city  itself,  only  in  more  abundant  measure ;  for 
while  Rome  was  protected  by  its  walls,  the  Campagna 
had  no  shelter  against  the  storms  of  war.  It  was  a 
perpetual  field  of  battle,  witnessing  the  last  struggles 
of  the  Roman  empire  against  its  foreign  invaders,  and 
at  a  later  period,  the  civil  contests  of  the  powerful  feu- 
dal barons  with  each  other.  Its  tombs  were  converted 
into  fortresses,  and  it  was  given  over  to  the  noble  and 
the  slave,  the  robber  and  his  prey.  But  when  that 
period  of  darkness  and  turbulence  had  passed  away ; 
when  the  new  day-spring  of  civilization,  Christianity, 
and  civil  order  had  gone  up  the  eastern  sky ;  when 
arts,  literature,  science,  agriculture,  and  manufactures 
had  revived,  and  Italy  once  more  put  on  the  beauty  of 
youth  and  hope  —  the  Campagna  did  not  share  in  the 
general  resurrection.  Nor  has  it  since  been  waked 
into  life ;  but  it  still  presents  essentially  the  same  fea- 
tures and  has  the  same  character  as  when  the  Colonna 
and  Orsini  fought  together  on  its  plains,  and  the  youth- 
ful Rienzi  mused  amid  its  ruins,  and  found  a  motive 
for  generous  effort  in  that  dreary  solitude  from  which 
the  inspiration  of  his  impassioned  eloquence  was  drawn. 


78  AGRICULTURE    OF   THE   CAMPAGNA. 

Political  economists  are  divided  upon  the  question  of 
the  extent  of  subdivision  of  land  ;  whether  the  agricul- 
tural resources  of  a  country  may  be  best  developed  by 
large  farms  requiring  considerable  amount  of  capital, 
and  cultivated  for  the  most  part  by  hired  labor ;  or  by 
small  possessions  in  which  the  soil  is  tilled  by  the 
owner  or  the  lessee,  for  his  own  benefit.  As  to  the 
mere  aggregate  of  wealth  annually  added  to  the  sum 
total  of  the  capital  of  a  country,  the  solution  is  not 
without  difficulty ;  but  when  we  take  into  account  the 
element  of  social  happiness,  the  amount  of  moral  and 
material  well-being,  which  each  system  respectively 
creates  and  sustains,  the  inquiry  becomes  still  more 
embarrassing  and  complicated.  A  large  landed  pro- 
prietor, whose  estate  is  cut  up  into  farms  of  moderate 
extent  and  tilled  by  tenants  who  hold  leases  and  pay 
rents,  sits  down  in  his  study  and  calculates,  that  by 
expelling  these  tenants  and  their  families,  converting 
his  whole  domain  into  an  immense  sheep-farm,  he  can 
add  ten  per  cent,  to  his  income ;  and  he  feels  that  the 
question  is  settled  as  to  him,  and  takes  his  measures 
accordingly.  But  what  would  be  the  effect  upon  the 
community  at  large,  were  such  a  change  to  become 
frequent  or  extensive  ?  a  change  —  by  which  great 
numbers  of  families  are  uprooted  from  the  soil  they 
cultivated,  which,  in  its  turn,  helped  to  cultivate  in 
them  the  social  and  domestic  virtues  —  which  compels 
them  to  choose  between  emigration  or  a  descent  in  the 
social  scale,  and  fills  their  places  with  day-laborers 
bound  neither  to  the  land  nor  its  owner  by  any  ties  but 
those  of  self-interest.  The  highest  function  of  land  is 
the  growth  of  man  and  not  the  growth  of  wealth. 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE   CAMPAGNA.  79 

That  country  is  declining  and  not  advancing,  in  which, 
while  the  rich  are  growing  richer,  the  poor  are  grow- 
ing poorer ;  even  though  the  sum  of  national  wealth 
be  on  the  increase. 

As  to  the  subdivision  of  land,  the  Campagna  of 
Rome  and  the  greater  part  of  France  stand  at  the 
opposite  extremes  of  the  scale ;  and  the  experience  of 
both  confirms  the  judgment  that  in  this,  as  in  most 
things,  there  is  a  point  at  which  the  greatest  amount  of 
good  and  the  smallest  measure  of  evil  are  blended; 
and  that  this  point  is  to  be  sought  by  observation  and 
not  established  by  a  priori  reasoning.  In  France  the 
number  of  separate  proprietaries  is  about  eleven  mil- 
lion, and  that  of  separate  proprietors  about  six  million. 
The  disastrous  effects  of  this  minute  subdivision  upon 
the  productive  resources  of  France  and  the  hardly  less 
malign  influence  it  has  exerted  upon  its  politics,  are 
obvious  to  any  candid  observer  who  has  watched  the 
course  of  events  in  that  country  since  the  general 
peace  of  Europe  in  1815.  In  the  Campagna  of  Rome 
we  see  the  injurious  results  of  the  opposite  extreme. 

The  Agro  Romano,  or  territory  of  Rome,  so  called, 
according  to  the  survey  of  Nicolai,  contains  eleven 
thousand  and  four  hundred  rubbii,  the  rubbio  being 
about  four  acres.  This  territory  belongs  to  one  hun- 
dred and  seventy-seven  proprietors,  of  whom  one  hun- 
dred and  thirteen  are  individuals,  and  sixty-four  are 
corporations.  Of  the  individual  proprietors  the  largest 
is  the  Prince  Borghese,  who  owns  nearly  fifty  thousand 
acres.  The  largest  proprietors  among  the  corporations 
are,  the  chapter  of  St.  Peter's,  which  own  about  forty- 
five  thousand  acres,  and  the  hospital  of  Santo  Spirito, 


80  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

which  has  about  thirty-two  thousand.  The  number  of 
separate  farms  is  four  hundred  and  seventeen,  of 
which  seventeen  are  of  more  than  two  thousand  acres 
each.  The  estate  of  Campo  Morto  —  which  lies  be- 
yond the  limits  of  the  Agro  Romano,  about  thirty  miles 
from  Rome,  but  still  within  the  Campagna,  properly  so 
called  —  is  the  largest  in  the  Papal  States,  being  about 
twenty  thousand  acres  in  extent.  It  belongs  to  the 
chapter  of  St.  Peter's.  These  estates,  immense  as 
they  are,  are  not  managed  by  the  owners  themselves 
on  their  own  account,  but  a  further  process  of  aggrega- 
tion takes  place  through  a  system,  by  which  the  Agro 
Romano,  and  indeed  much  of  the  Campagna  which  lies 
beyond  it,  are  let  to  a  powerful  body  of  middle-men, 
called  Mercanti  di  Campagna,  merchants  of  the  Cam- 
pagna. They  are  about  fifty  in  number,  residing  in 
Rome  and  forming  a  sort  of  corporation  ;  and,  as  such, 
recognized  and  protected  by  the  papal  government. 
The  enterprise  which  they  undertake  requires  a  great 
amount  of  capital,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that  the  estate  of  Campo  Morto  pays  an  annual  rent  of 
five  thousand  pounds.  As  these  merchants  reside  in  the 
same  place  and  collectively  wield  a  vast  amount  of  cap- 
ital, and  as  their  interests  are  absolutely  identical,  it 
may  well  be  conceived  that  by  a  concert  of  action,  and 
by  a  skilful  combination  of  their  powers  and  resources, 
they  may  exert  an  unnatural  influence  upon  the  price 
of  agricultural  products,  like  that  of  a  conspiracy  of 
brokers  upon  the  market  value  of  some  particular  stock. 
From  the  magnitude  of  their  operations,  their  establish- 
ments in  Rome  are  like  the  counting-rooms  and  ware- 
houses of  extensive  merchants  ;  and  there  is  probably 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA.  81 

no  other  case  in  which  so  much  of  the  spirit  and  method 
of  commerce  is  infused  into  the  processes  of  agricul- 
ture. Farmers,  indeed,  they  can  hardly  be  called ; 
their  business  being  the  manufacture  and  distribution 
on  a  gigantic  scale  of  agricultural  products. 

The  mercante  himself  visits  only  occasionally  his 
rural  kingdom.  Residing  in  Rome,  his  time  and 
thoughts  are  sufficiently  occupied  in  the  purchase  of 
the  articles  necessary  for  the  cultivation  of  his  estates, 
and  in  negotiations  for  the  sale  of  its  products.  The 
immediate  labors  of  agriculture  are  entrusted  to  the 
management  and  supervision  of  an  agent,  called  min- 
istro,  whose  functions  are  precisely  those  of  the  over- 
seer of  a  southern  plantation.  From  the  great  size  of 
the  farms  committed  to  his  charge,  the  ministro  is 
obliged  to  pass  the  greater  part  of  his  time  on  horse- 
back ;  and  the  proper  discharge  of  his  duties  requires 
an  active  mind,  a  vigorous  frame,  a  watchful  eye,  dis- 
cretion, authority,  and  self-command.  Under  him  and 
subject  to  his  orders,  are  various  subaltern  assistants,  as 
each  department  of  labor  has  its  own  separate  chief 
with  a  gradation  of  subordinates,  all  forming  a  staff  of 
aid-de-camps,  who  are  mostly  occupied  with  the  direc- 
tion and  oversight  of  the  numerous  laborers  by  whom 
the  work  is  actually  done.  It  thus  happens,  says  M.  de 
Tournon,  that  in  the  largest  establishments  there  are 
thirty  or  forty  persons  who  are  paid,  not  for  working 
themselves  but  for  making  others  work. 

The  buildings  attached  to  these  great  estates  bear  no 
proportion  to  the  extent  of  territory  cultivated,  or  to  the 
number  of  persons  employed.  They  consist,  com- 
monly, of  a  dwelling-house  of  stone,  a  store-house  or 

VOL.  n.  6 


82  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

granary,  and  a  stable.  Here  the  ministro  and  his 
various  subordinate  assistants  reside,  but  no  permanent 
substantial  shelter  is  provided  for  the  great  mass  of 
laborers.  These  are  divided  into  two  classes  ;  those 
hired  by  the  year  or  longer  periods,  and  those  engaged 
for  a  single  season  or  by  the  day.  Among  the  former, 
are  the  herdsmen,  the  shepherds,  and  what  we  should 
call  the  teamsters,  or  wagoners,  who  are  employed  in 
transporting  the  products  of,  the  farm  to  their  place  of 
sale  or  export,  and  in  bringing  from  Rome  the  needful 
supplies.  Among  the  latter,  are  those  hired  to  break  up 
the  soil  and  prepare  it  for  tillage,  and  to  collect  the 
harvest.  Each  farm  consists  of  arable  land,  meadow 
land,  grazing  ground,  wood,  and  underwood.  The 
rearing  of  animals  is  a  much  more  remunerative  em- 
ployment of  capital  than  the  cultivation  of  the  soil ;  and 
to  this,  consequently,  the  efforts  of  the  mercanti  are 
principally  directed.  The  animals  raised  upon  the 
Campagna  are  horned  cattle,  sheep,  horses,  swine,  and 
buffaloes.  Upon  each  of  the  farms  the  laborers  are 
divided  into  two  great  classes  ;  those  occupied  with  the 
care  of  animals,  and  those  engaged  in  the  raising  of 
various  crops.  The  former  are  usually  permanently 
attached  to  the  estates,  and  the  latter,  hired  by  the  day 
or  for  the  season.* 

The  cattle  of  the  Campagna  are  a  fine  race  of  ani- 
mals, of  that  gray  color  so  well  known  to  all  travellers 
in  Italy.  From  them  the  supplies  of  the  markets  in 

*  Upon  the  estate  of  Campo  Morto  there  were,  in  1813,  four 
thousand  sheep,  four  hundred  horses,  two  hundred  oxen,  seven 
hundred  cows,  and  about  two  thousand  pigs.  —  Chateauvieux. 


Rome  are  drawn.  Large  numbers  of  oxen  are  re- 
quired for  agricultural  purposes,  as  horses  in  Italy  are 
not  used  in  farming  operations.  Of  the  milk  of  the 
cows  very  little  use  is  made.  The  cattle  live  con- 
stantly in  open  pastures,  which  makes  them  wild  and 
sometimes  dangerous.  The  operation  of  capturing 
them,  and  subduing  them  to  the  plough,  when  they 
have  reached  the  proper  age,  requires  courage  and 
address,  and  is  attended  with  some  danger.  The  lasso 
is  used  on  these  occasions  as  in  the  plains  of  South 
America.  To  those  with  whom  the  flavor  of  excite- 
ment is  heightened  by  a  dash  of  the  perilous,  these 
scenes  are  full  of  interest.  The  herdsmen  in  pictur- 
esque costumes,  armed  with  lances  and  provided 
with  coiled  ropes,  are  mounted  upon  spirited  horses. 
Their  loud  cries  and  rapid  movements,  the  daring 
which  they  display,  and  the  spirit  and  intelligence  of 
the  fine  animals  on  which  they  ride  —  all  this  upon  the 
broad  horizon  of  the  Campagna,  and  under  a  Roman 
sky  —  make  up  one  of  the  most  animating  spectacles 
which  can  be  found  in  the  tame  regions  of  European 
civilization,  dignified  by  a  sense  of  danger  wanting  in 
a  fox-chase,  and  not  stained  by  the  cruelty  of  a  bull- 
fight. 

Buffaloes  are  also  kept  in  considerable  numbers  on 
the  Campagna,  and  their  uncouth  forms  are  mingled 
with  every  visitor's  recollections  of  Rome.  Their  value 
consists  in  their  prodigious  strength,  and  in  their  aquat- 
ic habits.  They  are  used  for  towing  vessels  against 
the  current  of  the  Tiber,  and  for  the  dragging  of  carts 
so  heavy  and  clumsy  that  no  other  domesticated  animal 
could  endure  the  toil.  Their  services  are  especially 


84  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

valuable  in  low  and  marshy  lands,  which  are  intersected 
by  streams  of  water,  across  which  they  readily  draw 
their  burden  ;  keeping  their  heads  above  the  stream 
and  blowing  like  grampuses.  Their  flesh  is  sometimes 
sold  in  the  Roman  markets,  and  small  round  cheeses 
made  from  their  milk  form  conspicuous  objects  in  the 
shops  of  provision  dealers.  Their  temper  is  sullen  and 
ferocious,  but  they  are  not  unsusceptible  of  personal 
attachment.  Each  buffalo  receives  a  particular  name 
which  he  learns  to  recognize,  as  well  as  the  person  of 
the  herdsman  who  calls  him.  When  provoked,  how- 
ever, they  have  been  known  to  kill  their  keepers.  The 
milking  of  the  females  is  done  in  the  dark  by  a  person 
who  glides  under  them,  covered  with  a  buffalo  skin. 

The  sheep  of  the  Campagna  migrate  to  the  mountains 
in  the  warm  weather,  and  return  to  the  plains  in  winter. 
They  form  the  most  important  item  in  Roman  agricul- 
ture, their  flesh,  their  wool,  and  their  milk  being  all 
valuable  products.  The  labors  of  the  shepherd  are 
constant  and  monotonous,  but  not  severe.  At  the 
dawn  of  day  he  conducts  his  flock  to  the  particular 
pasturage  place  assigned  to  them.  He  is  attended  by 
one  or  more  dogs  of  a  yellowish-white  color,  large, 
powerful,  and  faithful.  Two  of  them  are  said  to  be  a 
match  for  an  ordinary  wolf.  The  duties  of  the  shep- 
herd during  the  day  are  reduced  to  supervision,  his 
dog  fulfilling  the  rest.  Hour  after  hour  he  may  recline 
at  ease  beneath  the  shade  of  a  tree,  watching  the 
changes  of  nature  or  soothing  his  solitude  with  the 
drony  and  lacrymose  sounds  of  a  zampogna.*  But  at 

*  A  kind  of  bagpipe. 


AGRICULTURE    OF   THE   CAMPAGNA.  85 

night  a  more  serious  course  of  labors  begin.  The  flock 
is  gathered  together  and  conducted  to  their  fold.  The 
ewes  are  first  carefully  milked,  and  the  milk,  gathered 
into  large  caldrons,  is  subjected  to  a  quick  fire  of 
brushwood.  The  curd  thus  formed  is  made  partly 
into  cheese,  and  partly  into  ricotta,  that  delicacy  so 
tempting  and  so  dangerous  to  a  weak  stomach,  and  the 
whey  is  consumed  by  the  dogs.  The  habitations  of  the 
shepherds,  especially  those  for  winter,  though  rude  and 
homely  enough,  are  yet  such  as  to  furnish  shelter 
against  the  elements,  and  the  means  of  lighting  a  fire. 
Sometimes  they  are  substantial  structures  of  stone,  and 
sometimes  mere  huts,  covered  with  a  thatched  roof  and 
their  sides  plastered  with  mud  mixed  with  straw.  In 
the  summer  season,  the  shepherds  and  also  the  herds- 
men of  the  Campagna  often  find  shelter  in  a  ruined 
building,  or  a  decayed  tomb,  or  in  some  of  the  natural 
caverns  of  a  volcanic  soil. 

The  condition  of  the  herdsmen  and  shepherds  of  the 
Campagna,  hard  as  it  is,  is  not  without  its  favorable 
points.  They  are  permanently  attached  to  their  posts 
of  duty,  and  have  inducements  to  earn  a  character  for 
industry  and  fidelity,  and  to  make  their  own  interests 
identical  with  those  of  their  employers.  Their  wages 
are  tolerably  good,  and  when  the  toils  of  the  day  are 
over  they  find  a  place  of  shelter  and  repose  which,  in 
some  imperfect  measure,  represents  a  home.  The  lot 
of  the  purely  agricultural  laborers  is  not  so  fortunate. 
As  I  have  before  remarked,  the  raising  of  cattle  is  a 
more  lucrative  occupation  in  the  Campagna  than  the 
tilling  of  the  soil,  and  it  is  consequently  the  object  to- 
wards which  the  capital  and  energies  of  the  mercanti 


86  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

are  chiefly  directed.  Of  the  arable  land,  there  is 
probably  not  more  than  one-tenth  under  cultivation  at 
any  one  time,  although  the  soil  is  very  fertile,  and 
especially  adapted  to  the  cereal  grains.  Wheat,  the 
principal  crop,  is  sown  once  in  three  or  four  years  ; 
the  land,  in  the  intermediate  years,  according  to  its 
quality,  lying  fallow,  or  producing  Indian  corn,  oats,  or 
beans.  There  is  no  system  of  manuring  and  the  soil 
is  left  to  its  own  unaided  energies.  The  proportion  of 
land  actually  under  cultivation,  moderate  as  it  is,  would 
be  still  less,  were  it  not  that  the  ground  must  be  broken 
up  and  laid  down  to  tillage  once  in  a  few  years,  in  or- 
der to  produce  grass  in  the  abundance  and  of  such  a 
quality  as  the  necessities  of  pasturage  require. 

We  will  suppose  that  the  manager  of  one  of  these 
large  farms  proposes  to  break  up  a  tract  of  pas- 
ture land,  which  has  been  lying  fallow  for  two  or  three 
seasons,  and  lay  it  down  in  wheat.  In  this  interval, 
the  vivid  energies  of  a  rich  volcanic  soil  have  covered 
it  with  a  rank  growth  of  sturdy  shrubs,  which  must  first 
be  cut  down  with  hatchets  and  rooted  up  with  pickaxes. 
Then  it  is  ploughed  carefully  and  repeatedly,  and  the 
seed  grain  is  dropped  into  the  furrows,  and  the  plough 
again  passes  over  the  tract,  in  order  to  cover  the  seed 
with  earth.  Then  succeeds  the  process  of  breaking  up 
the  clods,  pulling  up  the  roots  of  such  weeds  as  still 
remain,  and  giving  to  the  furrows  a  regular  form.  The 
young  plants,  as  they  appear  above  the  ground*,  are 
weeded  and  hoed,  and  the  ground  is  kept  loose  about 
their  roots.  These  duties  extend  from  October  to  April 
or  May,  and  are  very  severe,  employing  a  great  num- 
ber of  laborers  who  are  hired  by  the  season  or  by  the 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA.  87 

job,  and  often  come  from  a  considerable  distance. 
They  are  engaged  not  singly  but  in  troops  or  compa- 
nies comprising  whole  families,  the  bargain  being  made 
with  a  corporale  or  head  man,. under  whose  charge  they 
move  to  the  scene  of  their  labors  like  a  gipsy  settlement 
or  an  Arab  encampment.  Here  they  find  no  perma- 
nent and  substantial  places  of  shelter,  but  must  live  in 
tents  or  rude  huts  of  reeds  and  branches  of  trees. 
Sometimes,  however,  they  find  a  sleeping-place  in  the 
buildings  of  the  casale,  in  which  case  they  are  com- 
pelled to  walk  three  or  four  miles  after  the  toils  of  the 
day,  and  the  same  distance  in  the  morning  before  they 
begin.  Their  food  is  meagre  and  poor  and  they  are 
imperfectly  clad,  so  that  they  can  offer  but  feeble 
resistance  to  the  fatal  influences  of  the  climate,  being 
often  exposed  to  days  of  great  heat,  and  damp  and 
chilly  nights,  and  thus  sickness  and  death  make  sad 
havoc  among  them,  and  fill  the  hospitals  of  Rome  from 
their  numbers.  M.  de  Tournon  mentions  it  as  an  hon- 
orable trait  in  the  '  noble  and  pious  family  of  Pamphili- 
Doria,'  that  upon  each  of  their  estates  they  employ  a 
vehicle  for  the  transportation  of  their  sick  laborers  to 
the  nearest  hospital. 

Between  the  last  of  these  preliminary  labors  and  the 
harvest,  which  usually  occurs  about  the  middle  of  June, 
there  is  an  interval  of  only  a  few  weeks.  During  the 
season  of  harvest,  the  Campagna  puts  on  an  unusual 
expression  of  animation  and  life.  As  the  grain  ripens 
over  great  tracts,  belonging  to  different  proprietors,  the 
element  of  time  becomes  very  important,  and  it  is  es- 
sential that  a  considerable  number  of  supernumerary 
laborers  should  be  under  command  during  that  limited 


88  AGRICULTURE    OP    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

period  in  which  the  ripe  wheat  must  be  cut.  Messen- 
gers are  despatched  beforehand  into  the  neighboring 
mountain  towns  to  collect  the  necessary  recruits,  and 
large  stores  of  bread  and  wine  are  laid  in  at  the  casale 
for  their  refreshment  and  support.  When  all  the  prepa- 
rations are  made,  the  work  of  cutting  the  grain  begins 
at  early  dawn,  each  band  of  laborers  continuing  by 
itself,  under  the  direction  of  its  corporate,  and  the  yel- 
low stalks  fall  fast  under  the  vigorous  attacks  of  a  long 
line  of  flashing  sickles.  The  open  plain  resounds  with 
shouts,  songs,  and  bursts  of  laughter.  The  ministro 
and  his  assistants,  and  often  the  mercante  himself,  or 
some  members  of  his  family,  ride  up  and  down  the 
field,  to  stimulate  and  encourage  the  toil.  Carts  laden 
with  wine  and  with  water  pass  slowly  along,  and  the 
laborers  refresh  themselves  with  liberal  draughts.  In 
the  neighborhood,  fires  are  kindled,  at  which  an  abun- 
dance of  food  is  cooked,  more  generous  than  their 
usual  fare.  M.  de  Tournon  speaks  of  having  been 
present  at  the  estate  of  Campo  Morto,  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  and  seeing  between  seven  and  eight  hun- 
dred reapers,  ranging  along  a  line  of  a  mile  and  a  half 
in  extent,  engaged  at  their  work,  and  forming  by  their 
variety  of  costumes,  the  vivacity  of  their  movements, 
and  the  wide  expanse  of  the  scene,  a  striking  and 
attractive  spectacle.  The  harvest  laborers  are  engaged 
for  eleven  days,  and  if  their  labors  are  prolonged  be- 
yond that  time,  they  are  paid  by  the  day.  They  have 
three  meals  a  day,  and  are  allowed  to  sleep  two  hours 
in  the  hottest  part  of  the  day.  Sleep  may  be  had  at 
this  time  without  danger;  but  not  so  at  night.  As  a 
general  rule,  the  harvest-laborers  have  no  shelter  pro- 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA.  89 

vided  for  them,  but  upon  the  very  spot  of  their  daily 
toils,  they  throw  themselves  down  for  their  nightly 
repose,  their  frames  bathed  in  perspiration,  and  ex- 
hausted with  the  fatigues  of  the  day.  Then  the  chill 
winds  and  heavy  dews  which  so  often  succeed  the 
burning  heats  of  the  sun  fall  upon  them  with  silent, 
deadly  power,  and  the  poison  of  fever  passes  into  their 
veins.  Each  day  the  number  of  the  healthy  and  able- 
bodied  is  diminished,  and  when  their  task  is  done  and 
they  have  received  their  wages,  many  have  no  more 
strength  than  enables  them  to  crawl  home  and  die  at 
their  own  doors.* 

Such  are  the  conditions  upon  which  the  Campagna 
is  cultivated,  and  so  little  regard  is  paid  to  the  life  and 
health  of  the  forlorn  laborers  by  whom  its  golden  har- 
vests are  sown  and  reaped.  Such  are  the  cruel  and 
heartless  results  which  ensue,  when  men  act  wholly 


*  Chateauvieux,  who  visited  the  estate  of  Campo  Morto  in 
the  summer  of  1813,  thus  describes  what  he  saw  :  'A  signal 
being  given  they  quitted  their  work,  and  this  long  troop  fled 
off  before  us  ;  there  were  nearly  as  many  women  as  men  ;  they 
all  came  from  the  Abruzzi.  They  were  balhed  in  sweat ;  the 
sun  was  intolerable  ;  the  men  were  good  figures,  but  the  wo- 
men were  frightful ;  they  had  been  some  days  from  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  foul  air  had  begun  to  attack  them.  Two  only 
had  yet  taken  the  fever,  but  they  told  me,  from  that  time  a 
great  number  would  be  seized  every  day,  and  that,  by  the  end 
of  harvest,  the  troop  would  be  reduced  at  least  one  half.  What 
then,  I  said,  becomes  of  these  unhappy  creatures  ?  They  give 
them  a  morsel  of  bread  and  send  them  back.  But  whither  do 
they  go  ?  They  take  the  way  to  the  mountains  j-some  remain 
on  the  road,  some  die,  but  others  arrive,  suffering  under  mis- 
ery and  inanition,  to  come  again  the  following  year.' 


90  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

upon  the  principle  that  property  has  its  rights  and  for- 
get that  it  has  also  its  duties.  The  beauty  of  the  Cam- 
pagna,  to  the  eye  of  humanity,  is  turned  to  ashes  ;  and 
to  its  ear,  the  breezes  which  sweep  over  it  seem  laden 
with  the  sighs  of  the  sick  and  the  groans  of  the  dying. 
The  deep-hearted  Sismondi  has  written  upon  this  sub- 
ject in  a  strain  of  generous  sympathy,  and  with  a  full 
sense  of  the  wrong  which  man  has  here  done  to  man. 
Endowed,  according  to  his  own  frank  confession,  with 
little  sensibility  to  art,  and  from  a  defective  visual 
organization,  unable  to  catch  the  tints  of  crimson  and 
gold  which  hang  their  glories  round  a  Roman  sunset, 
the  moral  and  social  aspects  of  the  melancholy  waste 
which  encircles  Rome,  presented  themselves  to  his 
mind  with  no  veil  of  enchantment  thrown  over  them. 
Political  economy  may  question  the  soundness  of  some 
of  his  conclusions,  and  experience  may  doubt  the  ful- 
filment of  some  of  his  sanguine  hopes ;  but  the  spirit 
of  his  essay  will  commend  itself  to  the  heart  of  hu- 
manity, and  they,  who  differ  from  him,  will  admit  that 
he  has  studied  his  subject  faithfully,  and  expounded  it 
candidly.  From  his  essay,  and  the  elaborate  work  of 
Tournon  on  the  statistics  of  Rome,  fhave  drawn  most 
of  the  facts  which  I  have  here  presented.  From  the 
same  sources  may  be  derived  the  means  of  correcting 
one  or  two  of  the  impressions  usually  left  upon  the 
minds  of  superficial  observers,  who  record  the  obser- 
vations of  a  hurried  visit  to  Rome,  and  especially  of 
qualifying  that  sweeping  censure  which  Protestant 
travellers  are  apt  to  pass  upon  the  Papal  government. 
The  desolation  of  the  Campagna  is  sometimes  ascribed 
to  the  blighting  influence  of  an  ecclesiastical  adminis- 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA.  91 

tration,  by  those  who  forget  that  within  the  States  of 
the  Church  are  comprised  some  of  the  most  thriving 
and  populous  portions  of  the  Italian  peninsula,  and  that 
the  same  political  causes  cannot  breathe  beauty  and 
fertility  over  one  region,  and  the  silence  of  death  over 
another.  The  Papal  government,  though  liable  to  many 
objections,  is  not  the  worst  in  Europe ;  and  the  men 
who  administer  it  are,  as  a  general  rule,  not  inferior  in 
intelligence  to  the  statesmen  of  other  Catholic  coun- 
tries, and  probably  superior  in  purity  of  life.  The 
Catholic  Church  is  eminently  democratic  in  principle, 
opening  freely  the  path  to  its  highest  honors  to  talent, 
learning,  and  worth ;  and  although  family  influence 
doubtless  exerts  here,  as  every  where  else,  an  unques- 
tioned power,  yet  there  are  always  many  men  in  the 
college  of  Cardinals  who  have  risen  to  that  high  posi- 
tion, solely  by  personal  merit.  But  in  its  relations  to 
the  Campagna,  the  Papal  government  presents  itself 
in  a  most  favorable  aspect.  For  more  than  three  cen- 
turies, with  various  longer  or  shorter  intervals  of  time, 
it  has  been  engaged  in  a  contest  with  the  proprietors 
and  lessees  of  this  region,  in  which  it  has  shewn  a  laud- 
able perseverance  and  a  generous  humanity;  though  not 
always  an  enlightened  judgment,  a  due  respect  for  the 
rights  of  property,  or  a  knowledge  of  the  principles  of 
political  economy.  To  give  the  history  of  this  struggle 
in  detail  would  require  too  much  space,  but  its  leading 
objects  may  be  briefly  stated.  The  Popes,  looking  at 
the  question  from  the  true  point  of  view,  seeking  to 
diminish  the  sum  of  human  suffering,  and  to  increase 
the  sum  of  human  happiness,  have  endeavored  to  re- 
move the  unhealthiness  of  the  Campagna  and  to  in- 


92  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

crease  its  permanent  population.  By  various  edicts, 
some  of  very  stringent  character,  they  have  sought  to 
prevent  the  abandonment  of  wide  tracts  to  the  pur- 
poses of  grazing,  and  to  stimulate  the  growth  of  wheat 
and  other  cereal  grains  by  laborers  resident  on  the 
spot.  But  they  have  encountered  a  steady  opposition 
from  the  proprietors  and  lessees,  who,  taking  a  mate- 
rial and  selfish  view  of  the  subject,  and  starting  from 
the  position  that  land  is  dormant  or  inactive  capital, 
contend  that  they  have  a  right  to  draw  from  it  the 
largest  amount  of  return  which,  with  the  aid  of  active 
capital,  it  can  be  made  to  yield ;  and  that  when  they 
have  shewn  that  pasturage  is  more  lucrative  than  til- 
lage, they  have  met  all  the  elements  in  the  case.  The 
gist  of  the  controversy  is  contained  in  a  statistical  cal- 
culation presented  to  the  government  by  the  proprietors 
in  1790,  and  afterwards  restated  in  1800.  By  this  it 
appeared  that  a  capital  of  eight  thousand  crowns, 
invested  in  the  cultivation  of  wheat,  yielded  a  net  re- 
turn of  only  thirty  crowns;  while  the  same  capital, 
invested  in  a  flock  of  sheep,  brought  a  return  of  nine- 
teen hundred  and  seventy-two  crowns.  This  was 
esteemed  an  unanswerable  and  decisive  argument  in 
favor  of  the  superior  advantages  of  pasturage.  But, 
as  Sismondi  observes,  this  comparison  is  not  between 
two  tracts  of  land  of  equal  extent,  but  between  two 
equal  sums  of  money  devoted,  one  to  pasturage  and 
the  other  to  tillage  ;  and  it  virtually  involves  a  begging 
of  the  question.  The  profitable  employment  of  this 
amount  of  capital  in  grazing  requires  a  quantity  of  land 
ten  or  twelve  times  greater  than  that  which  the  esti- 
mate assumes  to  be  necessary  for  its  use  in  tillage ; 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGKA.  93 

while  it  gives  support  to  only  twenty-nine  persons  in 
winter,  and  eighteen  in  summer.  It  is  thus  an  extrav- 
agant waste  of  land,  and  a  reduction  of  the  number 
of  those  deriving  support  from  land  to  the  smallest 
amount.  What  is  the  net  return  derived  from  the 
flocks  and  herds  that  roam  over  the  unpeopled  tract,  to 
the  aggregate  wealth  that  might  be  drawn  from  the 
soil,  were  the  population  at  the  rate  of  two  hundred 
to  the  square  mile,  as  in  the  other  parts  of  the  pontifi- 
cal states  ?  Thus  the  state  suffers  by  the  absence  or 
non-existence  of  all  those  persons  whom  this  mode  of 
using  the  land  prevents  from  inhabiting  it.  It  is  not  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Rome  alone  that  this  process  is 
going  on,  and  that  an  enlightened  and  humane  spirit  is 
putting  its  veto  upon  changes  sanctioned  by  that  polit- 
ical economy  which  tells  us  that  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  a  great  proprietor  spends  his  income  upon  the 
estate  from  which  it  is  derived,  or  in  a  distant  capital. 
The  conversion  in  Scotland  of  arable  land  into  sheep- 
walks  and  deer-forests,  by  which  whole  hamlets  of 
colters  and  small  farmers  were  swept  from  the  soil, 
is  of  the  same  kind,  and  no  calculations  of  a  heart- 
less science  can  ever  reconcile  humanity  to  such 
changes.* 

*  '  Campo  Morto,  one  of  the  estates  belonging  to  the  patri- 
mony of  St.  Peter's,  lying  between  here,  (Gensano)  and  the 
lake,  is  let  to  a  farmer.  It  contains  4309  rubbi,  or  about  4400 
plebeian  hides.  We  will  suppose  half  of  it  to  have  been  forest 
or  common  land  —  for  the  old  Romans  were  not  so  wise  as  our 
rural  economists,  who  parcel  out  every  thing  ;  thus,  two  thou- 
sand two  hundred  families  would  live  on  this  estate.  Now  it 
supports 

1.  The  farmer-general,  with  his  family,  in  great  comfort. 


i>4  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

In  the  contests  between  the  government  and  the  pro- 
prietors, the  latter,  as  might  be  expected,  have  had  the 
advantage.  The  great  evil  of  the  Papal  government 
is  the  frequent  changes  of  system  which  arise  of  neces- 
sity from  its  constitution.  The  popes  are  usually  old  men 
when  chosen  to  their  office,  and  thus  have  but  a  short 
time  to  mature  and  execute  projects  of  improvement ; 
nor  are  the  plans  of  one  pontiff  usually  taken  up  and 
carried  on  by  his  successor.  Indeed,  it  not  unfrequently 
happens  that  the  election  is  influenced  by  the  opposition 
which  these  plans  have  awakened,  and  the  partizans  of 
the  new  incumbent  are  those  who  were  the  enemies  of 
his  predecessor.  But  the  force  of  selfishness  is  as  in- 
evitable and  as  calculable  as  the  force  of  gravitation. 
The  interests  of  the  proprietors  and  their  lessees,  the 
mercanti,  have  been  always  the  same  ;  and  they  have 
ever  presented  the  same  unbroken  front  of  opposition. 
In  the  long  run,  the  dogged  obstinacy  and  sharp-sighted 
vigilance  of  selfishness  will  be  more  than  a  match  for 
the  philanthropy  of  legislation.  Government  must 

2.  The  rent  constitutes  the  revenue  of  about  thirty  canons, 
many  of  whom  save  out  of  their  incomes,  but  as  others  receive 
pensions  in  addition :  we  will  set  the  latter  against  the  former. 

3.  On  the  land  itself  there  live  about  a  hundred  laborers, 
nearly  all  unmarried. 

4.  In  the  spring,  a  few  hundred  laborers  come  to  work  for  a 
few  days,  and  in  the  summer,  five  hundred  come  from  Abruzzo 
to  get  in  the  harvest  for  eleven  days'  food  and  wages.     The 
rural  economist  will  say  how  many  useless  hands  he  spares  ! 
and  the  pious  must  rejoice  that  instead  of  two  thousand  two 
hundred  families  of  heathens,  thirty  gentlemen  now  live  upon 
the  land,  who  sing  mass  while  others  listen  to  them.'  —  From 
a  letter  of  Niebuhr  to  Savigny.   Life  of  Niebuhr,  vol.  3,  p.  166, 
2ded. 


AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGN.A.  95 

enunciate  general  principles.  It  cannot  follow  a  supple 
and  flexible  selfishness  through  all  the  winding  turns 
along  which  it  slips  and  glides.  Self-interest  tires  out  all 
competitors,  and  is  sure  to  be  in  at  the  death.  The 
well  meant  efforts  of  so  many  popes  to  increase  and 
widen  the  belt  of  cultivation,  to  reclaim  the  wastes  of 
the  Campagna,  to  dry  up  its  swamps,  and  to  dot  its 
surface  with  radiating  centres  of  population  and  activ- 
ity, have  produced  little  or  no  effect.  The  same  evils 
that  provoked  attention  in  times  less  humane  and  less 
enlightened  than  our  own,  still  present  themselves  to 
the  more  experienced  mind  and  more  susceptible  heart 
of  to-day.  There  is  the  same  dreary  depopulation,  the 
same  deadly  malaria,  the  same  frightful  waste  of  hu- 
man life.  Nor  to  the  sober  and  unimpassioned  reason, 
which  will  not  believe  a  proposition  simply  because  it 
wishes  it  to  be  true,  is  there  much  hope  for  the  future. 
The  essay  of  Sismondi,  to  which  I  have  before  alluded, 
points  out  the  elements  of  encouragement  in  a  sanguine, 
but  not  an  extravagant  spirit ;  and  he  certainly  proves 
that  the  reclaiming  of  the  Campagna  is  not  an  impossi- 
ble enterprise.  The  events  which  have  taken  place 
since  the  date  of  its  publication,  do  not,  however,  tend 
to  make  the  desired  consummation  more  probable.  We 
meet  upon  the  threshold  this  inexorable  dilemma ;  the 
Campagna  cannot  become  healthy  till  it  is  more  thickly 
peopled  ;  and  it  cannot  be  more  thickly  peopled  till  it 
becomes  more  healthy.  To  overcome  this  difficulty  — 
to  solve  this  problem  —  would  require  a  concentration 
of  powers  and  a  command  of  means,  such  as  the  ordi- 
nary flow  of  events  can  never  call  forth.  It  might  be 
done  by  a  man  who  added  to  the  large  capacity,  the 


96  AGRICULTURE    OF    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

iron  will,  the  piercing  insight,  and  boundless  resources 
of  Napoleon,  the  energetic  and  pertinacious  benevo- 
lence of  Oberlin ;  but  that  such  a  man  should  spring 
from  the  exhausted  soil  of  Rome,  would  be  a  miracle 
hardly  less  striking  than  if  an  angel  should  come  down 
from  heaven  and  in  a  single  night  cover  the  Campagna 
with  smiling  villages  and  a  vigorous  population.  Were 
a  region  like  this,  fertile  and  sickly,  lying  in  the  track 
of  western  emigration  in  our  own  countiy,  it  would 
present  but  a  brief  obstacle  to  the  advance  of  that  great 
wave  of  population  which  flows  so  steadily  towards  the 
setting  sun.  The  first  generation  would  fall  before  the 
deadly  influences  of  the  soil,  but  their  places  would  be 
supplied  by  new  comers,  and  the  contest  be  continued 
by  fresh  frames  and  unworn  spirits,  and  man  would 
triumph  at  last  over  nature.  But  the  conquest  which 
would  be  possible  to  the  boundless  energies  of  a  young 
democracy  like  ours,  is  beyond  the  feeble  powers  of  a 
decrepid  state,  which  can  do  no  more  than  struggle 
against  natural  decay  and  repair  the  breaches  of  time. 
The  statements  of  the  condition  of  the  Campagna 
may  also  tend  to  correct  another  of  those  wrong  first 
impressions  into  which  travellers  are  apt  to  fall.  From 
the  multitude  of  beggars  and  idle  persons  in  the  streets 
of  Rome,  they  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Romans, 
and  the  Italians  generally,  are  a  race  of  incorrigible 
idlers,  who  will  not  work  and  therefore  deserve  to 
starve.  But  how  many  of  those  who  form  and  second 
this  hasty  judgment,  have  put  themselves  into  a  situa- 
tion to  ascertain  the  willingness  or  unwillingness  of  this 
unemployed  population  to  embrace  the  opportunity  of 
work  when  offered  to  them  ?  Rome,  of  course,  has 


AGRICULTURE    OF   THE   CAMPAGNA.  97 

little  or  no  foreign  commerce  ;  and,  as  has  been  before 
remarked,  has  no  rural  population  connected  with  and 
dependent  upon  it.  Its  support  is  derived  mainly  from 
two  sources  ;  from  the  great  influx  of  strangers  drawn 
to  it  by  its  unique  attractions  in  art  and  history ;  and 
from  the  tributes,  prescribed  or  voluntary,  offered  to 
it  as  the  capital  of  Catholic  Christendom.  Were  these 
sources  cut  off,  a  considerable  part  of  its  population 
must  either  starve  or  move  to  some  other  place.  The 
manufactures  of  Rome,  more  considerable  than  is  com- 
monly supposed,  are  mostly  confined  to  objects  of  taste 
and  beauty.  Here  are  produced  pictures,  statues,  en- 
gravings, cameos,  bronzes,  works  in  marble,  artificial 
pearls,  and  the  like  ;  but  no  one,  that  can  help  it,  em- 
ploys a  Roman  tailor,  dress-maker,  shoemaker,  or  hat- 
ter, no  one  buys  a  Roman  carriage  or  Roman  furniture, 
nor  any  thing  that  is  there  made  of  linen,  or  cotton,  or 
wool,  or  glass,  or  porcelain.  Thus  the  range  of  em- 
ployment is  very  limited,  and  there  are  numbers  of 
persons  who  beg  because  there  is  nothing  else  that 
they  can  do.  But  the  conditions  under  which  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  Campagna  is  carried  on  are  alone 
enough  to  remove  the  reproach  of  idleness  from  the 
population  of  the  Papal  States.  We  have  seen  that  in 
the  hot  months  of  the  year,  such  as  May,  June,  and 
July,  the  labors  of  agriculture  are  attended  with  serious 
risk,  not  only  to  health  but  to  life,  and  that  every  year 
there  are  many  persons  who  carry  home  from  these 
fatal  plains  the  seeds  of  death.  And  yet,  in  spite  of 
this  confirmed  experience,  each  successive  season  sends 
forth  its  fresh  recruits  to  be  decimated  by  the  inglorious 
and  invisible  foe  that  creeps  along  the  dark  morass  and 

VOL.  II.  7 


98  AGRICULTURE    OF   THE    CAMPAGNA. 

falls  from  the  sky  upon  the  dewy  ground.  The  reap- 
ers, who  are  the  most  exposed  to  the  noxious  influences 
of  the  soil  and  climate,  usually  carry  home  about  five 
dollars,  and  for  this  humble  pittance  the  inhabitant  of  a 
mountain  village  leaves  his  breezy  home,  and  toils  for 
perhaps  a  fortnight  with  a  distinct  consciousness  that 
the  chances  are,  to  say  the  least,  not  against  his  being 
stricken  to  the  heart  by  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in 
darkness  and  the  destruction  that  wasteth  at  noon-day. 
Could  the  rich  foreigner  who  spends  this  sum  upon  a 
cameo,  or  a  bronze  ornament,  in  the  course  of  a  morn- 
ing drive,  have  a  fact  like  this  brought  home  to  him,  he 
would  probably  repress  the  impatient  ejaculation  called 
forth  by  the  importunate  beggar  at  his  carriage  door. 
There  is  something  inexpressibly  affecting,  even  heroic, 
in  the  quiet  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  of  these  reapers 
of  the  Campagna,  who  bravely  encounter  the  chances 
of  death  or  lifelong  sickness,  that  they  may  carry  home 
to  their  families  a  handful  of  silver.  They  are  soldiers 
who  go  down  to  a  field  of  battle  in  which  victory  is 
without  spoils  and  defeat  without  glory. 

The  condition  of  these  forlorn  persons  is,  however, 
but  an  extreme  instance  of  the  weight  of  hopeless  toil 
and  suffering  that  rests  upon  the  laboring  population  of 
a  large  part  of  Europe.  Every  where  the  heart  is  torn 
by  the  visible  presence  of  irremediable  distress.  Every 
where  we  see  men  who  are  made  old,  while  yet  in 
their  prime,  by  over-work,  meagre  food,  and  wretched 
shelter  —  women,  from  whose  forms  and  faces  their 
native  dower  of  grace  and  beauty  has  been  crushed  out 
by  the  weight  of  toil,  too  great  and  too  early  laid  upon 
them  —  children,  whose  little  faces  are  already  shad- 


AGRICULTURE    OF   THE   CAMPAGNA.  99 

owed  with  care  or  pinched  with  hunger.  Every  where 
the  grand  and  lovely  scenes  of  nature  are  associated 
with  the  sharp  penury  or  hopeless  prostration  of  man. 
Such  sights,  and  the  disproportioned  masses  of  wealth 
that  meet  our  view  at  the  other  end  of  the  social  scale, 
awaken  pity  or  indignation  according  to  the  observer's 
temperament.  A  benevolent  temper  is  often  united 
with  a  fierce  and  rebellious  spirit ;  and  where  such  a 
combination  exists,  who  can  wonder  that  the  protest  of 
humanity  should  take  the  form  either  of  distrust  of 
God's  providence,  or  of  a  blind  and  desperate  assault 
upon  all  existing  institutions  ?  That  there  are  constant 
troubles  in  Europe  is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  surprise 
as  that  there  should  ever  be  a  considerable  period  with- 
out them  ;  and,  what  is  saddest  of  all,  the  wiser  mind 
is  forced  to  confess  that  those  struggles  and  convulsions 
spring  from  such  motives,  or  are  attended  with  such 
conditions,  as  make  failure  inevitable.  The  apostle 
Paul  told  the  Romans  of  his  time,  that  '  the  earnest  ex- 
pectation of  the  creature  waiteth  for  the  manifestation  of 
the  sons  of  God.'  It  is  so  now  ;  and  now  as  then,  the 
Spirit  of  God  must  help  the  infirmities  of  man,  before 
the  bondage  of  corruption  can  be  broken. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Journey  from  Borne  to  Naples  —  Naples  —  The  Museum. 
JOURNEY    FROM    ROME    TO    NAPLES. 

ON  Thursday,  March  9,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  left  Rome  for  Naples,  occupying,  with  two 
friends  and  countrymen,  the  rotonde  of  a  diligence. 
A  diligence  has  three  divisions  :  the  coupe,  in  front  ; 
the  interieur,  in  the  middle  ;  and  the  rotonde,  behind. 
They  correspond  to  the  boxes,  the  pit,  and  the  gallery 
in  a  theatre.  The  rotonde,  says  somebody,  (quoted  by 
Murray),  '  is  the  receptacle  of  dust,  dirt,  and  bad  com- 
pany.' Our  route  was  along  the  Appian  Way,  passing 
through  Albano,  L'Aricia,  Gensano,  and  Velletri.  The 
weather  was  fine,  and  such  views  of  the  region  we 
traversed  as  could  be  caught  from  our  narrow  confine 
were  beautiful ;  especially  when  illumined  by  the  yel- 
low rays  of  a  setting  sun. 

The  shades  of  night  fell  upon  us  as  we  entered  upon 
the  monotonous  plain  which  extends  from  the  Alban 
Mount  to  Terracina,  and  we  lost  the  sight  of  the  deso- 
lation of  the  Pontine  Marshes.  The  diligence  stopped 


JOURNEY  FROM  ROME  TO  NAPLES.       101 

about  an  hour  at  Terracina,  a  delay  for  which,  in 
logical  language,  there  was  no  *  causa  causans  ; '  but 
the  *  causa  sine  qua  non '  was,  that  we  were  in  Italy, 
where  time  is  of  no  value,  and  the  whole  movement  of 
life  is  adagio.  For  persons  of  an  impatient  spirit  a 
residence  of  a  few  months  in  that  country  may  be  pre- 
scribed as  a  good  medicine.  It  will  either  kill  or  cure. 
I  could  not  but  murmur  at  the  darkness  which  hid 
every  thing  from  the  sight  except  the  interior  of  a  dirty 
post-house  —  enclosing  with  its  ebon  wall  the  striking 
features  of  Terracina  itself,  as  well  as  the  view  of  the 
distant  Monte  Circello,  which  tradition  has  fixed  as  the 
seat  of  the  Circe's  enchantments.  Some  obstinate 
sceptics  have  doubted  this,  because  the  localities  do 
not  all  correspond  with  Homer's  description  ;  but  the 
weight  of  evidence  is  against  them,  for  there  is  a 
cavern  in  the  rock  which  is  still  called,  '  The  Witch's 
Grotto,' '  La  Grotta  della  Maga,'  and  Valery  states  that 
the  swine  which  are  raised  in  the  neighborhood  attain 
a  size  which  can  only  be  explained  by  the  fact,  that 
they  are  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  unhappy  com- 
panions of  Ulysses. 

The  glittering  rays  of  the  morning  sun  revealed 
a  beautiful  scene,  different  in  character  from  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Rome.  To  the  right,  the  curved  shore  of 
Gaeta,  as  the  light  fell  upon  the  rippling  line  of  the 
breaking  waves,  shone  like  a  sickle  of  silver,  and  the 
gulf  which  it  clasped  was  of  the  darkest  blue.  It  was 
pleasant  to  be  so  near  to  the  sea  once  more  —  to  catch 
again  the  deep  respirations  of  its  mighty  heart,  and  to 
hear  the  sound  of  oars,  and  of  keels  grating  upon  a 
pebbly  bottom.  For  some  distance,  the  road  ran  close 


102  JOURNEY   FROM    ROME   TO    NAPLES. 

to  the  water's  edge ;  and  the  sandy  beach,  the  boats 
drawn  up  along  the  shore,  the  children  dabbling  in  the 
waves,  and  the  freshened  air  reminded  me  of  some 
points  in  the  coast  between  Boston  and  Nahant ; 
only  that  the  outlines  had  every  where  a  softer  char- 
acter. But  to  the  left,  the  land  view  awakened  no 
familiar  associations.  Every  thing  was  abrupt,  sa- 
lient, and  picturesque.  Elevations,  more  or  less  high, 
shot  up  suddenly  from  the  plain.  The  landscape 
was  full  of  startling  antitheses,  if  I  may  be  allowed 
such  an  expression.  The  line  of  hills  which  blocked 
up  the  horizon  was  indented  and  irregular.  The 
towns  and  villages  crowned  the  heights  and  hung,  like 
nests,  from  the  walls  of  rocky  precipices.  The  forms 
of  vegetation  approached  more  nearly  the  tropical 
types.  The  cactus  grew  in  the  hedges.  Orange  and 
lemon-trees  stood  out  boldly,  open  to  all  the  air,  and 
not  crouching  behind  walls  and  in  sheltered  court- 
yards. Fig-trees  wore  a  sturdy  and  defying  look  ;  and 
the  vine,  though  not  at  that  time  in  leaf,  had  the  inde- 
pendent character  of  a  child  of  the  soil.  Men  and 
women,  with  countenances  and  costumes  alike  marked, 
were  at  work  in  the  fields.  The  general  aspect  of  the 
scene  was  glowing  and  impassioned ;  and  differed 
from  the  scenery  of  more  northern  regions,  as  the 
changeable  features  and  fervid  gesticulation  of  a  Nea- 
politan differ  from  the  grave  and  calm  demeanor  of  an 
Englishman  or  German.  Indeed,  at  Terracina  the 
gates  of  a  new  region  are  thrown  open  to  us,  through 
which  we  pass  into  the  precincts  of  the  warm  South. 
The  face  of  nature  and  the  face  of  man  differ  from 
those  which  we  have  left  behind.  Flowers  of  more 


JOURNEY   FROM    ROME   TO   NAPLES.  103 

vivid  coloring,  fruits  of  finer  flavor,  men  of  more  rest- 
less passions  —  all  shew  that  we  are  drawing  nearer  to 
the  sun. 

The  region  which  lies  south  of  Terracina,  embracing 
the  Bay  of  Naples,  has  another  element  of  interest,  as 
the  scene  of  what  may  be  called  the  romantic  litera- 
ture of  antiquity.  Here  was  the  abode  of  Circe  —  a 
beautiful  enchantress,  smiling  but  malignant — the  ear- 
liest type  of  a  character  which  has  been  multiplied  to 
so  infinite  an  extent  in  all  subsequent  periods.  At 
Formise,  Ulysses  and  his  companions  met  with  the  ad- 
venture, since  so  often  repeated,  of  the  Lsestrygons, 
whose  king  is  a  man-eating  giant,  and  who  has  a  wife 
of  the  same  homicidal  and  cannibal  propensities.  From 
the  scars  of  violent  volcanic  action  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Naples,  from  the  gloomy  shades  of  Avernus  and 
traditions  of  streams  of  lava,  the  ancients  formed  their 
pictures  of  Tartarus  and  the  Styx.  The  airy  and  im- 
aginative shapes  of  the  Greek  mind  passed  into  the 
literature  of  Rome  from  the  south  of  Italy.  The 
elements  that  came  from  Etruria  were  sterner  and 
gloomier.  That  was  a  land  of  sombre  superstitions 
that  gave  to  Rome  the  system  of  omens  and  divina  - 
tions,  so  interwoven  with  its  history  and  poetry. 

We  passed  through  Fondi,*  Itri,  Capua,  and  other 
places,  striking  from  their  situation,  or  interesting  from 

*  Fondi  was,  in  1534,  the  residence  of  Julia  Gonzaga,  widow 
of  Vespasian  Colonna,  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  age. 
The  fame  of  her  charms  had  reached  the  ear  of  the  Sultan  Soly- 
man  at  Constantinople,  who  commissioned  the  corsair  Khalr- 
Eddyn  Barberoussa  to  make  a  descent  upon  Fondi  and  carry 
her  off.  The  attack  was  made,  the  town  carried  by  assault, 


104  JOURNEY   FROM   ROME   TO    NAPLES. 

their  associations  ;  but  I  can  only  recall  a  general  pic- 
ture of  rich,  warm  sunshine,  of  a  cloudless  sky,  a  blue 
sea,  a  luxuriant  vegetation,  towns  and  villages  perched 
upon  heights,  and  with  steep  and  narrow  streets  occu- 
pied by  men  and  women,  dark,  dirty,  and  picturesque ; 
very  good  to  put  into  sketch-books,  but  by  no  means 
looking  as  if  they  would  make  comfortable  neighbors. 
There  was  so  much  work  for  the  eye  to  do  —  there 
was  such  an  amount  of  form,  light,  and  color  dashed 
upon  the  canvas  of  the  horizon  —  that  in  the  whirl  of 
impressions,  there  was  neither  time  nor  patience  to 
rest  upon  details.  The  whole  route  was  much  infested 
by  that  ravenous  brood  of  animals  that  feed  upon 
trunks  and  passports.  I  will  not  attempt  to  record 
how  many  times  we  fell  into  their  devouring  jaws  — 
nor  how  great  was  the  sum  of  delay  and  vexation 
occasioned  by  them  —  nor  what  was  the  aggregate  of 
tribute  they  levied  upon  us  —  but  will  only  enjoin  it 
upon  those  who  may  hereafter  have  occasion  to  jour- 
ney on  that  route,  to  fortify  their  souls  with  patience, 
and  their  pockets  with  pauls. 

We  reached  Naples  after  dark.    The  streets,  glit- 

and  all  so  suddenly,  that  the  lady  had  only  time  to  escape  to 
the  mountains  in  a  night-dress.  Such  an  adventure  must  have 
had  its  alleviating  elements.  It  would  be  curious  to  speculate 
to  what  eztent  her  fright  and  sufferings  were  soothed  b^  the 
proud  consciousness  of  the  beauty  from  which  they  flowed. 
The  trouble  and  the  consolation  came  from  the  same  source, 
as  the  rust  of  Achilles'  spear  cured  the  wounds  it  made.  I 
will  not  believe  the  tradition  which  says,  that  she  caused  a 
gentleman,  who  assisted  her  in  her  flight,  to  be  assassinated, 
because  he  had  seen  her  in  so  much  of  an  undress. 


NAPLES.  105 

tering  with  gas  and  filled  with  people,  presented  a 
marked  contrast  to  the  comparative  silence  and  gloom 
of  Rome.  A  turn  of  the  carriage  brought  Vesuvius 
before  us  in  all  its  glories  and  terrors.  The  sight  was 
beyond  the  hope.  A  ruddy  coronet  of  flame  burned 
upon  its  summit,  and  its  side  was  streaked  with  veins 
of  fire.  But  after  a  vigil  of  thirty-six  hours,  nature 
claimed  her  rights ;  and  the  great  torch  of  Vesuvius, 
hanging  over  the  Bay  of  Naples,  was  eclipsed  in  attrac- 
tion by  the  candle  that  lighted  me  to  bed. 

NAPLES. 

My  residence  in  Naples  lasted  only  a  fortnight ;  and 
even  that  short  period  was  abridged  by  several  days  of 
bad  weather.  Of  course,  under  such  circumstances, 
only  general  impressions  could  be  gathered.  But  in 
Naples,  in  this  as  in  so  many  other  respects  unlike 
Rome,  we  do  not  need  the  help  of  time  to  grasp  and 
hold  the  spirit  of  the  place.  The  veil  of  the  past 
not  here  to  be  uplifted  slowly  and  with  reverend  hands. 
A  single  look  from  a  favorable  position  puts  the  travel- 
ler in  possession  of  what  is  most  striking  and  charac- 
teristic. The  entire  outline  is  traced  ineffaceably,  and 
afterwards  nothing  more  is  required  than  to  cut  the 
lines  more  deeply.  At  one  touch,  the  gates  of  the 
mind  are  opened  and  the  glorious  pageant  enters. 
Rome  is  like  a  fresco,  in  which  only  a  measured  por- 
tion can  be  painted  each  day;  but  Naples  is  a  sun- 
picture  taken  in  an  instant. 

It  is  indeed  a  curious  fact  that  in  Naples  itself  there 
are  very  few  objects  of  interest  or  curiosity.     In  archi- 


106  NAPLES. 

tecture,  there  is  almost  nothing  that  deserves  a  second 
visit.  There  is  not  a  church  or  a  palace  or  a  public 
building  of  any  kind,  of  such  conspicuous  merit  that 
one  need  regret  not  to  have  seen  it.  Why  this  city — 
more  than  double  the  size  of  any  other  in  Italy  — 
should  languish  in  such  architectural  poverty,  is  a  mys- 
tery not  easily  explained.  All  the  works  of  art  of  any 
consequence,  are  to  be  found  in  the  Museum  ;  and  the 
great  attraction  of  this  collection  is  not  in  its  pictures 
or  marble  statues,  which  seem  but  crumbs  fallen  from 
the  tables  of  Rome  and  Florence,  but  in  its  unique 
relics  from  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  It  cannot  be 
denied,  that  after  the  excitement  and  exhaustion  of 
Florence  and  Rome,  it  is  a  relief  to  find  ourselves  in  a 
place  where  there  are  no  churches  to  visit,  no  picture- 
galleries  to  go  through,  no  palaces  and  villas  that  must 
be  examined  —  where  no  inexorable  Nemesis  chases 
us  with  a  guide-book  in  one  hand  and  a  watch  in  the 
other  —  where  we  may,  without  self-reproach,  surren- 
der ourselves  to  unforeseen  impulses,  and  not  rise  in 
the  morning  with  a  duty,  in  the  disguise  of  a  pleasure, 
set  against  every  hour  in  the  day. 

The  beauty  of  Naples  and  its  environs  can  as  little 
be  described  as  exaggerated.  The  extreme  points  of 
the  two  projecting  arms  which  enclose  the  bay  on  the 
northwest  and  southeast,  are  about  twenty  miles  distant 
from  each  other  in  a  right  line.  They  are  similar  in 
their  shape  and  character,  but  by  no  means  identical. 
The  southern  promontory  stretches  farther  out  to  sea ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  balance  is  restored  by  the 
island  of  Ischia  on  the  north,  which  is  much  larger  and 
more  distant  from  the  land  than  its  southern  sister 


NAPLES.  107 

Capri.  The  curve  of  the  gulf  lying  between  them  is 
not  regular,  but  the  line  of  the  coast  makes  nearly  a 
right  angle  at  Naples-  and  also  at  Castellamare  ;  the 
intervening  space  being  nearly  straight.  Vesuvius 
occupies  a  point  about  half  way  between  the  projecting 
points.  The  whole  space  is  crowded  with  human  life, 
and  comprises  within  itself  nearly  every  form  of  beau- 
ty into  which  earth  and  water  can  be  moulded.  On 
one  side,  from  a  liquid  plain  of  the  most  dazzling 
blue,  a  range  of  mountains,  the  peaks  of  which  are  for 
many  months  covered  with  snow,  rise  into  the  air. 
Forests  of  oak  and  chestnut  encircle  them  midway. 
Between  them  and  the  sea  there  is  hardly  a  terrace  of 
level  land,  and  the  cliffs  that  line  that  tideless  shore 
are  often  crowned  and  draped  with  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion. In  another  direction,  the  primitive  features  are 
less  grand;  but  the  action  of  volcanic  agencies  has 
given  great  variety  of  surface  within  a  small  compass. 
Numberless  points  are  crowned  with  villas,  monasteries, 
and  houses,  linked  together  by  a  glowing  succession  of 
orange  groves,  vineyards,  orchards,  and  gardens.  Over 
all  the  unrivalled  scene,  Vesuvius  towers  and  reigns ; 
forming  the  point  of  convergence  in  which  all  the  lines 
of  beauty  and  grandeur  meet.  I  have  never  seen  a 
mountain  that  so  impresses  the  mind  as  this.  Although 
not  quite  four  thousand  feet  high,  it  produces  all  the 
effect  of  a  much  greater  elevation,  because  its  whole 
bulk  from  the  level  of  the  sea  to  its  summit,  is  seen  at 
a  glance.  Besides  the  peculiar  interest  which  belongs 
to  it  as  a  volcano,  it  is  remarkable  for  its  flowing  and 
graceful  outline,  and  the  symmetrical  regularity  of  its 
shape.  A  painter  could  no  where  find  a  better  model 


108  NAPLES. 

from  which  to  draw  an  ideal  mountain.  But  when  to 
this  merely  lineal  beauty,  we  add  the  mysterious  and 
awful  power  of  which  its  smoke  and  fire  are  symbols, 
and  those  fearful  energies  of  destruction  which  the 
imagination  magnifies  at  will,  it  becomes  a  feature  in 
the  landscape,  which,  considering  its  position  and  prox- 
imities, has  no  parallel  on  the  globe.  It  would  seem 
as  if  volcanic  agency  were  necessary  to  crown  the 
earth  with  its  most  impressive  loveliness  and  grandeur, 
just  as  a  human  face  never  reveals  all  its  beauty  till 
passion  burns  in  the  eye  and  trembles  on  the  lip.  The 
action  of  fire  alone  heaves  up  those  sheer  walls  and 
notched  battlements  of  rock,  and  sets  the  mountain  lake 
in  those  deep  and  wooded  sockets,  by  which  the  most 
expressive  landscapes  are  formed,  and  through  which 
great  effects  are  produced  without  the  aid  of  great 
space.  Water  shapes  and  smooths  the  earth  into  some- 
thing like  a  Grecian  regularity  of  outline,  but  fire 
sharpens  and  points  it  after  Gothic  types. 

The  whole  line  of  coast  from  Pozzuoli  to  Sorrento 
repeats  and  renews  the  same  curves  and  waves  of 
beauty.  The  land  is  rounded,  scooped,  and  hollowed  ; 
holding  out  jutting  promontories  and  projections,  like 
arms  of  invitation,  to  the  sea.  No  rigid  lines  of  de- 
fence are  thrown  up ;  no  castellated  masses  of  granite 
stand  along  the  coast  like  line-of-battle  ships  drawn  up 
for  an  engagement ;  no  where  is  an  expression  of  de- 
fiance stamped  upon  the  scene.  Along  the  rocky  and 
iron-bound  shores  of  New  England,  the  meeting  of  the 
sea  and  the  land  is  like  the  meeting  of  enemies  under 
a  flag  of  truce.  Even  the  sunshine  and  the  calm 
speak  of  conflicts  past  and  to  come.  Upon  the  prac- 


NAPLES.  109 

tical  and  unromantic  coast  of  England,  their  meeting 
is  like  that  of  men  of  business  who  have  come  together 
to  talk  over  a  bargain.  But  in  the  Bay  of  Naples,  the 
meeting  of  the  sea  and  the  land  "is  like  the  embrace 
of  long-parted  lovers.  The  earth  is  a  beautiful  and 
impassioned  Hero,  and  the  waves  lie  upon  her  bosom 
like  the  dripping  locks  of  Leander.  t 

Naples  itself  is  only  the  core  and  nucleus  of  this 
fertile  and  populous  shore,  which  every  where  swarms 
with  life  and  glitters  with  human  habitations.  In  re- 
spect to  situation,  the  cities  of  Naples  and  Edinburgh 
have  an  element  in  common ;  or  rather,  they  leave  a 
similar  impression  upon  the  observer's  mind.  In  both, 
the  town,  the  buildings,  the  work  of  man's  hands,  are 
subordinate  to  the  grand  and  commanding  features  of 
nature  around  and  above  them.  This  is  never  the 
case  with  a  city  standing  upon  a  plain.  In  Edinburgh 
the  houses  look,  in  comparison  with  the  mountain 
ridges  near  them,  like  a  handful  of  toys  upon  a  giant's 
lap.  Naples  is  not  only  stretched  along  a  winding 
coast,  but  scattered  over  the  terraces  and  spurs  of  a 
range  of  semicircular  hills  ;  and  is  brought  into  imme- 
diate proximity  with  commanding  heights  and  a  grand 
expanse  of  water.  Thus,  when  it  is  seen  from  the 
sea  —  which  is  the  finest  point  of  view  —  the  magnifi- 
cent lines  and  sweeps  of  the  landscape  fairly  eat  up 
the  city  itself ;  and  its  white  buildings  look  like  rows  of 
China  cups  and  saucers  ranged  along  the  shelves  of  a 
crescent-shaped  closet.  But  though  it  is  easy  to  tell 
what  Naples  suggests,  it  is  not  easy  to  tell  what  it  is. 
What  words  can  analyze  and  take  to  pieces  the  parts 
and  details  of  this  matchless  panorama,  or  unravel  that 


110  THE   MUSEUM. 

magic  web  of  beauty  into  which  palaces,  villas,  forests, 
gardens,  vineyards,  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  are 
woven  ?  What  pen  can  paint  the  soft  curves,  the  gen- 
tle undulations,  the  flowing  outlines,  the  craggy  steeps, 
and  the  far-seen  heights,  which,  in  their  combination, 
are  so  full  of  grace,  and  at  the  same  time,  expression  ? 
Words  here  are  imperfect  instruments,  and  must  yield 
their  place  to  the  pencil  and  the  graver.  But  no  can- 
vas can  reproduce  the  light  and  color  which  play  round 
this  enchanting  region.  No  skill  can  catch  the  chang- 
ing hues  of  the  distant  mountains,  the  star-points  of  the 
playing  waves,  the  films  of  purple  and  green  which 
spread  themselves  over  the  calm  waters,  the  sunsets  of 
gold  and  orange,  and  the  aerial  veils  of  rose  and  ame- 
thyst which  drop  upon  the  hills  from  the  skies  of 
morning  and  evening.  The  author  of  the  book  of 
Ecclesiasticus  seems  to  have  described  Naples,  when 
he  speaks  of  '  the.  pride  of  the  height,  the  clear  firma- 
ment, the  beauty  of  heaven,  with  his  glorious  shew.' 
'  See  Naples  and  then  die,'  is  a  welt-known  Italian 
saying  ;  but  it  should  read,  '  See  Naples  and  then 
live.'  One  glance  at  such  a  scene  stamps  upon  the 
memory  an  image  which,  forever  after,  gives  to  every 
day  a  new  value. 

THE    MUSEUM. 

The  Museum  of  Naples,  comprising  an  extensive 
library,  a  picture  gallery,  a  large  collection  of  works  in 
marble  and  bronze,  a  wilderness  of  vases,  and  all  the 
spoils  of  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii,  is  contained  in  a 
building  of  vast  extent,  originally  designed  for  a  train- 


THE    MUSEUM.  Ill 

ing-school  for  cavalry ;  subsequently  appropriated  to  an 
university,  and  at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  dedi- 
cated to  its  present  purposes.  Its  proper  name  is 
Palazzo  de'  regi  Studii.  The  most  interesting  portion 
of  this  vast  storehouse  of  art  and  antiquity  is  found  in 
the  rooms  which  contain  the  multifarious  and  innu- 
merable objects  which  have  been  brought  here  from 
Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  These  possessions  are 
absolutely  unique.  They  defy  rivalry,  and  can  never 
be  damaged  by  comparison.  A  large  part  of  all  that 
we  know  of  the  private  life  of  the  Romans  has  been 
revealed  to  us  from  these  opened  graves  of  the  past. 
It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  we  owe  the  preservation  of 
these  most  impressive  and  instructive  memorials  to 
means  and  causes  which,  of  all  others,  would  seem  the 
least  likely  to  accomplish  such  a  result.  It  is  difficult 
to  conceive  of  a  more  destructive  agency  than  that  put 
forth  by  the  eruption  of  a  volcano ;  nor  is  there  any 
wrath  so  consuming  as  the  wrath  of  fire  ;  and  yet,  in 
this  instance,  their  spell  has  been  reversed,  and  they 
have  sheltered  from  decay,  and  restored  unharmed,  a 
world  of  objects  which  air  and  light  would  long  ago 
have  destroyed.  Long  buried  beneath  a  sea  of  lava, 
or  shro.uded  in  a  grave  of  ashes,  the  domestic  life  of 
Rome  has  awakened  from  its  sleep  of  centuries,  to 
startle  the  present  with  an  authentic  voice  from  the 
past.  Many  persons  have  regretted  that  these  things 
were  ever  taken  from  the  localities  in  which  they  were 
found  ;  feeling  that  by  this  removal  the  proper  relation 
between  them  has  been  lost,  and  that  all  these  curious 
and  beautiful  objects,  arranged  in  shew-rooms  and 
exposed  in  glass  cases,  are  like  an  exhibition  of  cut 


112  THE   MUSEUM. 

flowers  as  compared  with  a  garden  in  bloom.  Upon* 
what  may  be  called  the  sentimental  side  of  the  ques- 
tion, —  that  side  upon  which  Lord  Byron  looked  at  the 
transportation  of  the  Elgin  marbles  to  London,  —  there 
is  no  doubt  that  much  may  be  urged  in  support  of  this 
view.  But  Herculaneum  is  shrouded  in  the  deepest 
night,  so  that  nothing  can  be  seen .  beyond  the  small 
circle  of  light  shed  by  the  torches ;  and  at  Pompeii  it 
would  have  been  necessary  to  maintain  an  army  of 
keepers  and  guardians  to  protect  the  treasures  there 
found  from  the  rapacity  of  travellers.  Upon  the 
whole,  therefore,  we  must  be  content  with  the  arrange- 
ment as  we  find  it,  and  not  let  what  might  be  cast  a 
shadow  upon  what  is. 

A  suite  of  several  rooms  is  devoted  to  articles  in  iron 
and  bronze  ;  lamps,  candelabra,  cooking  utensils,  agri- 
cultural implements,  and  weapons  of  offence  and  de- 
fence. The  collection  is  especially  rich  in  lamps 
and  candelabra,  many  of  which  are  most  elaborately 
wrought,  and  of  rare  beauty  of  form.  The  difference 
between  ancient  and  modern  taste  —  the  former  run- 
ning to  the  beautiful  and  the  latter  to  the  useful  —  is 
nowhere  more  strikingly  seen  than  in  contrivances  for 
artificial  light.  The  lamp  by  which  I  am  now  writing, 
if  set  down  by  the  side  of  the  superb  works  of  art 
which  delight  the  eye  in  the  Museum  of  Naples,  would 
look  as  homely  as  a  barn-yard  goose  sailing  about  in  a 
fleet  of  imperial  swans.  But  on  the  other  hand,  it  gives 
ten  times  as  much  light  as  the  best  of  these  antique 
beauties.  The  Roman  wick  was  but  a  bit  of  thread 
drawn  through  a  hole,  casting  only  a  feeble  glimmer, 
and  in  a  well-ventilated  room  it  must  have  flared  and 


THE    MUSEUM.  113 

frottered  to  the  great  discomfort  of  sensitive  eyes.  May 
we  not  accept  circular  wicks  and  glass  chimneys  as  a 
fair  compensation  for  the  beauty  which  we  have  lost  ? 
Seen  by  daylight,  it  must  certainly  be  admitted  that 
these  Roman  lamps  and  candelabra  are  a  perpetual 
pleasure  to  the  eye.  The  most  graceful  forms  of 
animal  and  vegetable  life  were  imitated  and  reproduced 
in  their  ornaments,  —  such  as  the  claws  of  lions  and 
griffins,  the  legs  of  goats,  the  branches  of  trees,  the 
stems  and  flowers  of  liliaceous  plants,  —  and  these  are 
ingeniously  combined  with  minute  architectural  details, 
bas-reliefs,  and  heroic  or  mythological  forms.  It  is  the 
same  with  the  vessels  of  metal  destined  for  the  homely 
offices  of  life.  In  the  outline,  the  decorations,  and 
especially  the  shape  and  fashion  of  the  handle,  we  see 
the  claims  of  an  eye  that  exacted  beauty  in  every 
object  on  which  it  fell.  In  a  vase  found  at  Hercula- 
neum,  and  deposited  in  one  of  these  rooms,  the  handle 
represents  an  eagle  grasping  a  hare.  In  the  first  room 
which  I  entered,  are  several  balances  and  steelyards 
wrought  with  the  same  taste  and  elegance,  the  weight 
representing  the  head  of  a  hero  or  demigod.  In  the 
same  room  is  a  small  portable  furnace,  and  scattered 
through  the  collection  are  many  other  articles  of 
kitchen  furniture.  There  is  also  an  urn  of  very  elab- 
orate construction.  In  one  of  the  rooms  are  various 
pieces  of  armor  and  weapons  of  offence,  swords, 
lances,  bucklers,  and  helmets,  —  some  richly  orna- 
mented with  chased  work.  Distributed  in  cases  around 
the  same  room,  as  if  to  mark  the  contrast  between 
peace  and  war,  are  agricultural  implements,  such  as 
hoes,  pickaxes,  spades ;  and  also  locks,  hinges,  bits  for 

VOL.  II.  8 


114  THE   MUSEUM. 

horses,  door-knockers,  and  keys.  Scattered  through  ttfe 
various  rooms  are  a  multitude  of  miscellaneous  objects, 
such  as  tripods,  musical  and  surgical  instruments, 
bronze  inkstands,  styles  for  writing,  articles  belonging 
to  the  toilet, —  such  as  mirrors,  combs,  pins,  and  even 
cosmetics,  —  playthings  for  children,  dice  —  some  of 
them  loaded  —  tickets  of  admission  to  the  public  games 
made  of  ivory  or  bone,  moulds  for  pastry;  and,  not  the 
least  curious  of  all,  a  variety  of  articles  of  food  charred 
by  the  heat,  such  as  nuts,  many  sorts  of  grain,  fruits, 
and  loaves  of  bread  with  the  baker's  name  upon  them. 
In  short,  these  marvellous  rooms  present  an  epitome  of 
the  whole  domestic  and  daily  life  of  Rome  under  the 
empire.  By  the  help  of  the  innumerable  objects  con- 
tained in  this  unique  collection,  we  can  follow  out  all 
the  hours  of  a  Roman  day,  in  their  several  duties  or 
amusements.  We  can  sit,  or  rather  recline,  with  the 
wealthy  nobleman  of  Pompeii  at  his  meals,  and  criti- 
cise his  table  furniture,  and  almost  pronounce  upon  the 
flavor  of  his  dishes  or  the  age  of  his  wine.  We  can 
peep  into  the  dressing-room  of  his  wife,  and  see  her 
toilet  apparatus  spread  out  before  us  ;  her  rouge,  her 
mirrors,  her  ornaments ;  in  short,  all  the  weapons  with 
which  she  fought  off  the  approaches  of  time.  We  can 
penetrate  into  the  kitchen,  see  the  charcoal  lighted  in 
the  brazier,  hear  the  water  bubbling  in  the  urn,  and 
snuff  the  steam  of  the  dishes  that  simmer  in  the  sauce- 
pans. We  can  sit  with  the  student  in  his  library,  go 
out  into  the  fields  with  the  farmer,  visit  the  shops  of 
mechanics  and  artisans,  and  accompany  the  surgeon  in 
his  professional  calls.  We  can  go  with  the  respectable 
citizen  to  the  theatre,  and  with  the  wild  young  man  to 


THE    MUSEUM.  115 

the  gaming-table,  and  see  him  lose  his  money  to  the 
blackleg.  From  all  that  is  spread  before  us,  we  gather 
the  truth  that  man  is  an  animal  with  but  very  few 
tricks  ;  that  the  same  wants  impelled,  and  the  same 
passions  disturbed  him,  in  those  days  as  now ;  that  the 
same  dangers  lay  in  his  path,  and  the  same  temptations 
led  him  astray  ;  and  that  life  was  the  mingled  web  of 
suffering  and  enjoyment  in  Pompeii  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago,  that  it  is  to-day  in  London  or  New  York. 

A  spacious  room  in  the  Museum  is  devoted  to  the 
paintings  found  upon  the  walls  of  the  houses  and 
public  buildings  of  Pompeii,  which  have7  been  skilfully 
detached  from  their  original  positions  and  assembled 
here.  As  these  paintings  are  very  numerous,  and 
comprise  a  great  variety  in  style  and  design,  and  as 
they  are  huddled  and  crowded  together  upon  the  walls 
of  a  single  apartment,  in  such  a  way  as  shews  that 
economy  of  space  was  a  primary  object  of  considera- 
tion, the  whole  effect  is  somewhat  confusing  and  be- 
wildering. I  believe  that  of  late  years  the  practice  of 
removing  these  paintings  has  been  discontinued,  and 
that  in  the  recently  excavated  houses  they  are  allowed 
to  remain  on  the  walls  without  being  disturbed.  These 
pictures  have  been  greatly  admired,  and  highly,  per- 
haps too  highly  praised.  The  sight  of  them  affects  the 
imagination  so  powerfully  as  to  leave  us  in  a  frame  of 
mind  not  exactly  suited  for  calm  criticism.  We  are  so 
astonished  to  find  the  drawing,  expression,  and  coloring 
so  good,  that  we  are  inclined  to  overstate  their  excel- 
lence ;  in  the  same  way  as  civilization  is  more  than 
just  to  the  poetry  and  eloquence  of  savage  tribes.  The 
number  of  paintings  which  the  excavations  of  Pompeii 


116  THE    MUSEUM. 

have  brought  to  light  is  astonishing.  The  use  of  this 
form  of  decoration  in  ornamenting  the  walls  of  houses 
was  universal,  and  the  specimens  preserved  to  us  shew 
as  great  a  variety  of  merit  as  is  included  between  the 
daubs  of  an  itinerant  portrait-painter  and  the  best  works 
of  Stuart  or  Copley.  There  were  decorative  artists  of 
every  gradation  of  excellence,  and  suited  to  ample  and 
moderate  incomes. 

These  paintings  are  popularly  called  frescoes  ;  but, 
as  a  general  rule,  they  are  painted  in  distemper  upon 
a  dry  wall.  Their  chief  merits  are  grace  and  flowing 
ease  of  outline,  and  the  spirit  of  the  attitudes  and  move- 
ments. The  perspective  is  often  defective.  The  finest 
thing  in  this  room,  and  perhaps  the  finest  picture  yet 
found  in  Pompeii,  is  the  celebrated  group  of  Achilles 
and  Briseis,  so  well  known  by  the  admirable  engravings 
and  enthusiastic  description  of  Sir  William  Gell.  The 
colors  are  sadly  faded,  and  I  cannot  but  think  that  the 
head  of  Achilles  is  seen  to  some  advantage  in  the  spir- 
ited engraving  in  the  '  Pompeiana.'  Two  other  well- 
known  subjects  —  which  have  been  often  engraved, 
are  also  here  ;  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia  —  in  which, 
Agamemnon  is  pictured  with  his  face  covered,  and 
Iphigenia  is  grasped  by  two  priests  in  a  very  uncere- 
monious manner  —  and  Medea  meditating  the  murder 
of  her  children.  Both  of  them  have  much  merit  in 
design  and  execution.  The  general  character  of  these 
paintings,  and  of  those  which  are  left  on  the  walls  of 
Pompeii,  is  light,  airy,  and  sportive.  Those  heathen 
views  of  life  and  death  which  breathe  through  the 
poetry  of  Horace,  in  exhortations  to  crowd  the  short 
span  of  time  with  music,  wine,  and  flowers,  before  the 


THE    MTTSEITM.  117 

dark  hour  of  renunciation  came,  shed  also  a  sunny 
gleam  of  grace  and  beauty  along  the  walls  of  Pompeii. 
Female  dancers,  draped  and  undraped,  Bachantes  and 
Fauns,  groups  of  Mars  and  Venus,  nymphs,  centaurs, 
and  rope-dancers  are  frequently  recurring  subjects. 
Many  of  them  are  full  of  comic  power,  and  instinct 
with  the  sense  of  the  ludicrous  —  not  unlike  the  carica- 
tures of  modern  times.  Animals  are  sometimes  repre- 
sented in  grotesque  positions  and  quaint  combinations, 
which  remind  us  of  Granville's  illustrations  of  La  Fon- 
taine. The  aim  of  the  artist  seems  to  have  been  to 
produce  an  atmosphere  of  agreeable  sensations,  and  to 
exclude  every  object  which  could  bring  the  shadow  of 
reflection  over  the  spectator's  mind.  Every  thing 
must  suggest  life  and  movement  —  the  opening  bloom 
of  pleasure,  and  the  sparkling  foam  of  careless  mirth. 
How  different  is  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  a  modern 
Italian  gallery,  with  its  Martyrdoms,  its  Crucifixions, 
its  Pietas,  its  Madonnas,  and  its  Magdalens !  The 
modern  artist  does  not  hesitate .  to  lay  his  hand  upon 
the  deepest  and  most  solemn  chords  of  the  human 
heart ;  for  the  echoes  they  awaken  are  not  returned 
from  the  chambers  of  the  tomb,  but  from  the  vault  of 
heaven  which  bends  over  them. 

The  gallery  of  bronzes  is  rich  in  works  of  the  highest 
merit.  Those  which  I  recall  as  of  conspicuous  excel- 
lence, are  : 

A  bust  of  Democritus,  powerful  and  individual. 

A  very  pleasing  bust  of  Berenice. 

A  group  of  Athletes,  full  of  spirit. 

An  admirable  bust  of  Caracalla,  containing  authentic 
evidence  of  its  being  a  good  likeness. 


118  THE   MUSEUM. 

A  beautiful  bust  of  Antinous,  with  the  'drooping  head 
and  melancholy  lips  with  which  he  is  uniformly  rep- 
resented. 

A  noble  and  expressive  bust  of  Scipio  Africanus. 

An  admirable  bust  of  Archytas. 

A  bust  of  Seneca ;  perhaps  the  most  striking  bust  in 
the  whole  collection  ;  stern,  grim,  and  lifelike  ;  with 
massive  lips  and  hair  falling  in  ragged  locks  over  the 
brow. 

Three  Fauns  ;  one,  of  small  size,  dancing  —  a  light, 
airy  and  graceful  figure  ;  one,  sleeping  ;  and  the  third, 
a  little  larger  than  life,  represented  in  a  state  of  genial 
intoxication.  This  last  is  a  very  admirable  work  —  in 
spite  of  the  subject  —  and  a  good  illustration  of  the 
power  of  the  ancient  artists  in  idealizing  a  coarse  object. 
In  the  attitude  and  expression  there  is  the  utmost  of 
madness  and  frolic,  and  the  least  of  vulgar  brutality, 
which  art  can  possibly  combine.  He  has  been  drinking 
such  wine  as  might  have  been  pressed  from  grapes  that 
grew  upon  the  grave  of  Anacreon. 

Mercury  in  repose.  This  is  perhaps  the  finest 
bronze  statue  in  the  world.  The  figure  is  of  the  size 
of  life  —  in  a  sitting  posture  —  the  left  hand  resting  on 
the  knee,  and  the  right  slightly  supporting  the  figure 
against  the  base  on  which  it  is  seated.  The  right  leg 
is  loosely  extended,  and  the  body  slightly  leaning  for- 
ward. The  air  and  attitude  of  the  figure  are  those  of 
a  person  who  is  enjoying  the  luxury  of  rest,  after  con- 
siderable muscular  exertion.  The  limbs  are  in  the 
soft  bloom  of  early  manhood.  The  proportions  are 
beautiful  and  the  expression  perfect ;  hi  every  respect, 
a  work  of  the  highest  class.  This  admirable  statue 


THE    MUSEUM.  119 

was  discovered  at  Portici,  about  the  middle  of  the  last 
century. 

A  horse's  head,  of  colossal  size,  full  of  life  and 
spirit. 

Besides  these,  this  room  contains  a  very  curious 
object  in  the  shape  of  an  immense  water-cock,  made  of 
metal,  found  in  the  island  of  Capri  —  in  which  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  water  still  remains,  after  the  lapse 
of  two  thousand  years.  It  is  always  shaken  by  the  at- 
tendant officials,  for  the  benefit  of  incredulous  ears. 

The  collection  of  marble  statues  is  arranged  in  sev- 
eral halls  and  corridors,  and  contains  not  a  few  works 
which  would  hold  up  their  heads  and  claim  admiration, 
even  in  the  Vatican.  The  following  are  some  of  those 
which  most  impressed  me  : 

Psyche ;  a  fragment,  but  full  of  feeling,  grace,  and 
beauty  ;  by  some,  ascribed  to  Praxiteles. 

A  bust  of  Caracalla,  animated  and  lifelike. 

Two  equestrian  statues  of  Balbus  and  his  son,  found 
at  Herculaneum  ;  simple,  noble,  and  dignified. 

A  beautiful  bas-relief  of  Daedalus  and  Icarus. 

A  fine  head  of  Alexander. 

The  Hall  of  the  Muses  derives  its  name  from  the 
statues  of  these  goddesses  arranged  in  it.  They  were 
found  at  Herculaneum,  and  many  of  them  are  very 
good.  In  this  apartment  is  a  large  vase  of  Greek 
marble,  carved  in  relief  with  a  subject  representing  the 
education  of  Bacchus.  The  history  of  this  vase  is  cu- 
rious. It  was  found  at  Gaeta,  where  it  had  been  used 
by  the  fishermen  to  tie  their  boats  to  ;  and  the  marks 
of  the  ropes  are  still  visible  upon  it.  It  was  rescued 
from  this  degrading  service,  and  removed  to  the  Cathe- 


120  THE    MUSEUM. 

dral  at  Gaeta,  where  it  was  used  as  a  baptismal  font ; 
and  finally  brought  to  the  Museum.  A  beautiful  statue 
of  Adonis  gives  its  name  to  one  of  the  apartments.  In 
the  same  room  is  a  curious  and  well-executed  compo- 
sition of  Cupid  entangled  in  the  folds  of  a  dolphin. 

In  the  Gallery  of  Flora  is  a  colossal  statue  of  that 
goddess,  of  great  merit,  especially  in  the  disposition  of 
the  drapery,  although  the  exaggerated  dimensions  are 
not  in  unison  with  our  conceptions  of  the  goddess'  of 
flowers.  The  statue  was  found  in  the  Baths  of  Cara- 
calla,  at  Rome.  In  the  same  apartment  is  a  fine  statue 
of  Juno,  full  of  dignity  and  expression.  Here,  too,  is 
now  deposited  the  celebrated  mosaic  found  at  Pompeii, 
representing  the  decisive  moment  in  the  battle  of  Issus 
between  Darius  and  Alexander.  In  composition  and 
perspective,  this  is  one  of  the  finest  remains  of  anti- 
quity. The  struggle,  terror,  and  confusion  of  a  deadly 
hand-to-hand  encounter  ;  the  exulting  and  victorious 
expression  of  the  Macedonian  hero  ;  the  despair  and 
agony  of  the  Persian  king,  as  he  sees  the  tide  of  battle 
setting  against  him,  and  his  faithful  friends  falling 
around  him  —  are  all  admirably  represented.  This 
mosaic  had  been  injured  by  an  earthquake  with  which 
Pompeii  was  visited  some  years  before  its  destruction, 
and  the  repairs  it  underwent  in  consequence  are  de- 
tected by  the  inferior  character  of  the  workmanship. 

In  the  gallery  of  the  Flora  is  also  deposited  the  finest 
work  in  the  whole  collection,  the  noble  statue  of  Aris- 
tides,  the  grandest  embodiment  of  high  intellectual 
power  and  calm  dignity  of  character  that  ever  was 
expressed  in  marble.  The  attitude,  the  simple  and 
expressive  disposition  of  the  drapery,  and  the  elevated 


THE    MUSEUM.  121 

air  of  the  head  make  this  statue  one  of  the  most  pre- 
^cious  legacies  which  antiquity  has  bequeathed  to  us. 

In  one  room  is  gathered  together  a  little  congress  of 
Venuses,  and  the  visitor  may  study  and  compare  all 
those  modifications  of  beauty  and  grace,  which  the 
ingenuity  of  ancient  artists  contrived  to  throw  around 
their  conceptions  of  the  goddess  of  love  and  smiles  ; 
and  mark  the  essential  character  of  the  figure  combined 
with  unconsciousness,  with  playfulness,  with  coquetry, 
and  with  wantonness. 

The  colossal  Hercules  of  Glycon  is  overloaded  with 
masses  of  muscle  ;  and  this  exaggeration  of  animal 
power  and  the  small  size  of  the  head  make  the  statue 
look  too  much  like  an  overgrown  gladiator,  and  not  the 
duty-obeying  demigod,  whose  heroic  strength  was  ever 
governed  by  heroic  sentiments.  The  Torso  at  Rome 
is  better,  so  far  as  it  goes.  The  celebrated  group  of 
the  Farnese  Bull,  which  stands  in  the  same  hall,  is  a 
noble  work,  in  which  the  intellectual  conception  of  the 
artist  is  not  at  all  overlaid  by  the  weight  and.  bulk  of 
the  material.  This  group  was  found  in  the  Baths  of 
Caracalla  at  Rome,  much  injured,  and  restored  by 
Bianchi,  a  Milanese  sculptor. 

Besides  the  above,  there  is  a  fine  composition  of 
Ganymede  embracing  the  eagle. 

A  capital  group  of  Hercules  and  Omphale,  with  a 
sort  of  comic  power  about  it,  like  the  laugh-in-the- 
sleeve  which  runs  through  the  poetry  of  Ariosto. 

A  striking  head  of  Jupiter  Ammon,  with  horns. 

A  sitting  statue  of  Agrippina,  the  mother  of  Nero,  a 
work  of  great  character  and  expression,  which  Canova 
has  imitated,  but  not  improved  upon,  in  his  statue  of 
the  mother  of  Napoleon. 


122  THE    MUSEUM. 

One  room  is  devoted  to  works  in  colored  marble. 
Here  is  a  striking  statue  of  Apollo,  in  porphyry  ;  of  a 
size  larger  than  life  ;  represented  in  a  sitting  posture, 
holding  a  lyre  in  his  hand  —  the  lyre  and  the  extremi- 
ties of  the  figure  being  in  Carrara  marble.  The  dra- 
pery, in  spite  of  the  hardness  of  the  material,  is  wrought 
with  infinite  patience  and  skill,  and  hangs  in  such  deli- 
cate folds  that  it  looks  as  if  the  breath  of  summer  would 
move  them.  There  is  also  a  Meleager,  in  rosso  antico ; 
two  barbarians,  in  pavonazzetto,  in  a  kneeling  posture, 
and  supporting  an  entablature  ;  an  Egyptian  priest,  in 
basalt ;  and  a  very  fantastic  statue  of  Diana,  in  oriental 
alabaster  and  bronze,  looking  like  a  macoronic  poem  in 
two  languages. 

The  Egyptian  Museum  contains  the  usual  assortment 
of  articles  found  in  such  collections  ;  vases,  figures  in 
bronze  and  terra  cotta,  sarcophagi,  and  ghastly-grin- 
ning  mummies  —  by  no  means  a  cheerful  company. 
To  pass  from  a  hall  illumined  by  the  light  of  Greek 
genius,  into  one  of  these  grim  and  dingy  Egyptian  mu- 
seums, is  like  going  from  a  garden  to  a  cellar. 

A  spacious  and  well-lighted  room  is  dedicated  to  the 
patient  labors  of  the  scholars  who  occupy  themselves 
with  unrolling  and  deciphering  the  rolls  of  papyri 
which  have  been  discovered  at  Herculaneum  and  Pom- 
peii. Some  large  cases  contain  a  quantity  of  the  rolls 
as  they  are  found  ;  looking  like  small  cylinders  of 
charred  wood,  and  so  little  like  what  they  really  are, 
that  when  first  brought  to  light,  large  quantities  were 
destroyed  by  the  workmen  in  mere  wantonness.  Two 
or  three  of  the  machines  used  to  unrol  them  were 
in  operation.  They  resemble  somewhat  the  sewing 


THE    MUSEUM.  123 

frames  of  the  bookbinders.  The  papyrus,  as  it  is  un- 
rolled, is  attached  to  gold-beater  skin,  by  means  of  a 
weak  solution  of  glue.  Infinite  patience  is  requisite  in 
the  process,  as  a  single  rash  pull  at  the  capstan  may 
undo  the  work  of  days.  Some  of  those  which  have 
been  most  successfully  unrolled  are  ranged  round  the 
room  in  glass  cases.  By  an  inexperienced  eye,  the 
letters  can  be  just  traced  by  a  rather  stronger  line  of 
black.  In  an  inner  room  are  the  books  which  have 
been  published.  It  is  melancholy  to  reflect,  that  after 
all  the  expense  of  time  and  money  given  to  this  pursuit 
of  knowledge,  nothing  of  the  least  value  has  been 
brought  to  light. 

The  picture  gallery  contains  a  number  of  indifferent 
works  and  a  few  good  ones.  Among  the  latter  are : 

A  Holy  Family  by  Raphael,  called  '  Madonna  col 
divino  Amore,'  in  which  the  Child,  seated  on  the  lap  of 
the  Virgin,  is  blessing  the  Baptist,  who  kneels  before 
him  on  one  knee,  holding  a  cross  in  his  hand.  Eliza- 
beth supports  the  arm  of  the  Child  which  gives  the 
benediction.  Joseph  is  standing  in  the  background. 
There  is  much  in  this  picture  which  is  characteristic 
of  Raphael,  but  the  action  of  the  Child  seems  hardly 
consistent  with  his  age,  and  too  much  like  a  dramatic 
performance. 

The  Madonna  della  Gatta,  so  called  from  a  cat 
which  crouches  in  one  corner,  is  by  Julio  Romano, 
from  Raphael's  design ;  a  refined  and  beautiful  con- 
ception, interpreted  by  a  coarser  hand. 

The  marriage  of  St.  Catharine,  by  Correggio  —  a 
subject  often  repeated  by  him  —  is  a  very  beautiful 
picture,  so  far  as  the  human  element  involved  in  the' 


124  THE    MUSEUM. 

subject  is  concerned.  The  Child  and  Catharine  are 
two  lovely  children,  playing  at  what  they  do  not  quite 
understand.  The  smiling  and  arch  surprise  with  which 
the  child  looks  up  into  his  mother's  face  is  full  of  the 
peculiar  charm  of  this  fascinating  painter. 

By  the  same  artist  is  the  Madonna  della  Zingarella, 
in  which  the  Virgin  is  resting  with  the  Child,  during 
the  flight  into  Egypt  —  a  pleasing  and  expressive 
work. 

By  Titian,  are  a  very  noble  portrait  of  Philip  II.  of 
Spain  ;  a  Magdalen,  and  a  Danae,  both  splendid  speci- 
mens of  coloring,  but  neither  of  them  remarkable  for 
refinement  of  feeling  or  elevated  expression. 

The  '  Carita,'  by  Schedone,  is  a  very  striking  work 
—  a  little  melo-dramatic  in  its  general  tone,  and  with 
an  atmosphere  of  exaggeration  hanging  over  it,  but 
full  of  vivid  power  and  animated  life.  It  breaks  upon 
the  eye,  like  a  burst  of  military  music  upon  the  ear, 
and  it  is  quite  difficult  to  turn  away  from  it  and  look 
at  any  thing  else. 

There  is  a  fine  and  expressive  portrait  by  Parmigia- 
no,  which  every  American  will  look  upon  with  curi- 
osity, because  it  bears  the  name  of  Columbus.  But 
it  is  certainly  not  the  portrait  of  the  illustrious  naviga- 
tor, and  it  is  difficult  to  understand  why  it  ever  came 
to  be  called  so  ;  for  the  fine  and  delicate  features  are 
those  of  a  scholar,  artist,  or  poet,  and  not  of  a  resolute 
and  indomitable  man  of  action. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Excursion  to  Pompeii —  Camaldoli  Convent  —  Ascent  of  Vesuvius. 
EXCURSION  TO  POMPEII. 

A  SINGLE  day  spent  at  Pompeii  gives  time  enough 
for  only  general  impressions.  The  buried  city  lies 
about  thirteen  miles  from  Naples,  and  is  now  approach- 
ed by  a  railway,  which  passes  through  Portici,  Torre 
del  Greco  and  Torre  dell'  Annunziata.  A  railway  to 
Pompeii !  There  was  infinite  matter  for  reflection  in 
this  contrast  of  ideas.  One  of  the  most  wonderful 
results  of  modern  civilization  brought  into  immediate 
relation  with  the  most  striking  monument  of  the  arts 
and  life  of  the  past !  To  me,  there  was  nothing  dis- 
cordant in  a  combination  which  disturbs  the  sensibili- 
ties of  many.  It  seemed  appropriate  to  be  transported 
from  the  living  and  smiling  present  to  the  heart  of  the 
dead  past,  by  the  swiftest  and  most  powerful  wings 
that  modern  invention  has  furnished. 

The  situation  of  Pompeii  must  have  been  beautiful. 
It  was  built  upon  a  gently  swelling  elevation ;  the  base 
of  which  was  a  bed  of  lava,  the  product  of  some  errup- 
tion  of  Vesuvius  long  anterior  to  the  earliest  historical 


126  EXCURSION    TO   POMPEII. 

period.  The  loveliest  of  seas  spread  its  ample  bosom 
in  full  view  of  the  inhabitants  —  its  cooling  breezes 
sweeping  over  the  town  without  any  intervening  object 
to  break  their  power.  Vesuvius  was  about  five  miles 
distant ;  and  after  a  sleep  of  many  centuries,  its  sides 
were  covered  with  gardens  and  vineyards,  its  broken 
summit  crowned  with  forests  of  oak  and  chestnut. 
It  was  then  an  object  of  beauty  and  grandeur,  and  a 
bounteous  source  of  corn  and  wine  :  not,  as  now,  a 
mere  shape  of  awful  and  unmeasured  terror ;  ever 
watched  with  uneasy  glances,  like  a  sleeping  lion  or  a 
rising  thunder-cloud.  A  navigable  river,  the  Sarnus, 
flowed  through  the  city  in  a  clear  and  rapid  current. 
Blessed  with  these  natural  advantages,  living  under  a 
delicious  climate,  upon  a  thickly-peopled  coast  most 
strongly  stamped  with  the  luxury  of  Rome,  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Pompeii  might  well  have  felt  that  the  lines  had 
fallen  to  them  in  pleasant  places. 

The  first  aspect  of  the  resuscitated  city  did  not  cor- 
respond exactly  to  my  expectations.  It  looked  some- 
what like  a  square  in  a  modern  city  which  had  been 
partially  destroyed  by  a  conflagration.  All  the  exca- 
vated rubbish  had  been  removed,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing to  prove  that  it  had  been  so  long  buried  under  a 
shroud  of  earth.  When  we  reach  the  end  of  the  exca- 
vated portion,  and  are  stopped  by  a  sheer  wall  of  gray 
ashes,  of'  some  eighteen  feet  high,  with  trees  and  vines 
growing  upon  it,  we  begin  to  comprehend  the  unique 
character  of  the  place. 

As  is  well  known,  the  utmost  wrath  of  the  volcano 
was  not  let  loose  upon  Pompeii.  It  was  not  destroyed 
by  streams  of  lava,  but  by  showers  of  cinders  mixed, 


EXCURSION   TO   POMPEII.  127 

as  is  supposed,  with  liquid  mud  which  penetrated  and 
flowed  into  all  the  lower  parts  of  the  houses  in  a  way 
that  dry  ashes  could  not  have  done.  The  ruin  effected 
by  the  first  eruption  was  by  no  means  complete,  and 
there  are  indubitable  proofs  that  the  inhabitants  re- 
turned and  carried  off  many  of  their  valuables.  The 
bed  of  earth,  which  now  lies  over  a  portion  of  the  city, 
is  disposed  in  several  successive  layers,  and  is  the 
deposit  of  many  distinct  eruptions.  It  grows  finer  in 
grain  as  it  approaches  the  surface  ;  the  upper  part 
having  been  more  exposed  to  the  disintegrating  action 
of  air  and  moisture.  It  is  no  where  so  light  and  vola- 
tile as  wood-ashes,  but  is  more  like  fine  gravel.  The 
color  is  dark  gray.  The  volcanic  eruption  was  not  the 
first  calamity  which  fell  upon  this  devoted  city.  Six- 
teen years  before  that  event,  it  had  been  desolated  by 
an  earthquake  —  the  first  premonitory  symptom  of  the 
reviving  terrors  of  the  long-slumbering  Vesuvius  — 
and  many  indications  of  the  destruction  occasioned  by 
this  disaster  are  visible  among  the  ruins. 

The  traveller  will  always  find  a  guide  at  the  railway 
station,  and  if  the  one  who  took  charge  of  me  and  the 
friends  by  whom  I  was  accompanied,  be  no  more  than 
a  fair  specimen  of  his  brethren,  I  should  speak  highly 
of  their  courtesy  and  intelligence.  To  dwell  upon 
details  ;  to  ask  my  readers  to  follow  me  to  every  build- 
ing and  point  of  interest  to  which  we  were  conducted ; 
and  to  repeat  the  expositions  which  our  Cicerone  glibly 
recited  —  would  be  a  wearisome  catalogue,  since  par- 
ticulars are  nothing  without  minuteness  and  accuracy ; 
and  what  chance  is  there  for  being  minute  and  accu- 
rate, upon  the  strength  of  a  single  visit,  in  which  you 


128  EXCURSION    TO   POMPEII. 

are  marched  about  and  presented  to  forums,  temples, 
basilicas,  theatres,  and  houses,  till  the  mind  becomes 
an  architectural  chaos,  in  which,  columns,  pilasters, 
pediments,  mosaics,  statues,  and  pictures  whirl  and 
dance  like  the  broken  images  of  a  feverish  dream  ?  I 
will  therefore  confine  myself,  substantially,  to  such 
general  impressions  as  were  gathered  from  an  examin- 
ation of  a  few  hours. 

When  we  begin  to  look  about  us,  we  are  immedi- 
ately struck  with  the  extreme  narrowness  of  the  streets, 
which  finds  no  parallel  in  any  modern  city  of  Europe, 
unless  it  be  Venice.  It  is,  indeed,  a  city  not  of  streets 
but  of  lanes  and  alleys.  Many  of  these  are  so  narrow 
that  a  man  can  step  from  one  curb-stone  to  the  other ; 
and  where  they  are  wider,  a  raised  stepping-stone  has 
been  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  crossing,  so  that  no 
more  than  two  strides  are  required  to  pass  from  one 
side  to  the  other.  Of  course,  the  vehicles  adapted  to 
such  streets  must  have  been  of  proportionate  dimensions 
between  the  wheels  ;  and  as  each  one  must  have  occu- 
pied the  whole  space  between  the  curb-stones,  we  are 
left  without  any  means  of  conjecturing  what  expedients 
were  resorted  to,  or  what  police  regulations  were  in 
force,  when  two  carriages,  moving  in  different  direc- 
tions, met  each  other.  The  streets  are  very  well  paved 
with  large,  irregular  blocks  of  lava,  in  which  the  ruts 
worn  by  the  chariot  wheels  are  distinctly  discernible. 

Many  private  houses  and  villas  have  been  excavated 
in  Pompeii,  differing  from  each  other  in  elegance  and 
extent,  as  their  owners  were  men  of  wealth,  compe- 
tence, or  poverty  ;  but  still  with  a  certain  family  like- 
ness among  them  all.  A  single  glance  at  these  ruined 


EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII.  129 

mansions  enables  us  to  see  that  the  views  of  domestic 
architecture,  and  the  objects  which  a  man  proposed  to 
himself  in  building  a  house  among  the  Romans,  differed 
in  many  respects  from  those  which  prevail  among  us 
to-day.  The  causes  of  this  difference  are  to  be  found, 
partly  in  the  dissimilar  requisitions  of  a  hot  and  a  cold 
climate,  and  partly  in  unlike  habits,  tastes,  and  ways 
of  living. 

In  a  northern  climate,  the  necessity  of  using  artificial 
heat  for  many  months  in  the  year  is  the  controlling 
element  in  domestic  architecture  ;  but  in  southern  Italy 
houses  were  and  are  built  with  special  reference  to  the 
warmth  of  the  sun  in  winter,  and  an  abundance  of  fresh 
air  in  summer.  We  must  have  compactness ;  but  they 
required  extension.  A  fine  house  in  Pompeii  consists 
of  several  enclosed  spaces,  some  open  to  the  sky, 
around  which  walls  and  colonnades  are  built.  These 
communicate  with  each  other  by  doors  and  passages. 
The  atrium  —  which  is  the  principal  room  entered  after 
the  vestibule  —  is  a  large  and  often  elegantly  decorated 
apartment,  with  a  square  or  rectangular  opening  in  the 
roof,  which  has  a  pitch  towards  the  centre  ;  and  under 
this  opening  is  a  sunken  cistern,  called  a  compluvium, 
into  which  the  rain-water  drips.  Around  this  apart- 
ment, or  hall  —  like  state-rooms  around  a  cabin  —  are 
ranged  the  sleeping  rooms ;  little,  dark,  narrow,  con- 
fined holes,  without  windows  ;  and  receiving  light  and 
air  only  through  the  door  opening  into  the  atrium  — 
without  any  of  the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  a 
modern  bedroom  ;  and  often  containing  only  a  rude 
bench,  rather  than  bedstead,  on  which  the  sleeper 

VOL.  n.  9 


130  EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII. 

probably  threw  himself  without  taking  off  the  clothes 
he  had  worn  during  the  day. 

In  small  houses,  occupied  by  persons  of  modest  for- 
tune and  inferior  position,  the  atrium  and  its  appendages 
made  up  the  whole  of  the  residence  ;  but  where  the 
owner  was  a  man  of  fortune  and  consequence,  the 
atrium  was  used  as  a  sort  of  public  hall,  or  reception- 
room,  and  the  family  resided  in  inner  suites  of  apart- 
ments. But  the  same  primitive  type  of  construction 
was  repeated  throughout.  Sometimes  the  space  devot- 
ed to  the  compluvium  in  the  atrium,  was,  in  the  inner 
halls,  occupied  by  a  small  garden,  or  rather  bed  of 
earth,  in  which  shrubs  and  flowers  were  planted. 
There  are  many  of  these  baby-gardens  at  Pompeii, 
some  not  bigger  than  a  hearth-rug.  In  the  more  im- 
posing houses,  the  women  of  the  family  resided  in  a 
quarter  exclusively  appropriated  to  their  use. 

When  we  compare  a  Roman  house  in  Pompeii  with 
the  houses  in  a  New  England  town  of  the  same  class, 
we  readily  see  a  marked  difference  in  the  tastes,  habits, 
and  employments  of  their  respective  inhabitants.  In 
general,  in  a  New  England  house,  the  entry  or  hall  is 
not  conspicuous  for  size  or  ornament ;  whereas  in  a 
Roman  house,  the  atrium  —  which  corresponds  some- 
what to  the  spacious  hall  of  an  old-fashioned  country- 
house  —  is  the  prominent  portion,  upon  which  the 
wealth  and  taste  of  the  proprietor  are  most  displayed  ; 
and  a  stranger  who  had  penetrated  so  far  would  form 
an  accurate  notion  of  the  extent  and  character  of  the 
whole  mansion.  In  our  houses,  more  provision  is  made 
for  separate  occupation  and  individual  seclusion  ;  a 
change  wrought  by  many  circumstances,  conspicuous 


EXCURSION   TO    POMPEII.  131 

among  which  are  the  cheapness  of  books  —  the  univer- 
sal taste  for  reading,  and  the  amount  of  time  devoted 
to  letter-writing  ;  a  result  which  we  owe  to  the  cheap- 
ness of  paper,  and  to  that  inestimable  blessing  —  per- 
haps the  most  precious  product  of  modern  civilization 
—  the  public  post.  In  nothing  are  the  advantages  en- 
joyed by  the  women  of  our  time,  as  compared  with 
their  Roman  sisters,  more  conspicuous  than  in  this 
matter  of  letter-writing.  In  Eome,  the  privilege  of 
writing  and  receiving  letters  was  reserved  to  a  select 
few  —  to  men  of  fortune,  of  high  rank,  or  conspicuous 
station  —  and  to  the  greater  part  of  the  female  sex  it 
was  an  unknown  luxury.  In  this  department,  modern 
literature  owes  much  to  the  delicate  and  graceful  genius 
of  woman  ;  but  in  this  she  has  done  no  more  than 
pay  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  a  privilege  which  has  con- 
tributed so  much  to  her  intellectual  development  and 
happiness. 

A  Roman  house  was  constructed  for  general  con- 
venience, and  not  for  the  special  tastes  and  exclusive 
accommodation  of  individuals  composing  the  family. 
They  lived  together  in  the  atrium  or  some  correspond- 
ing apartment ;  seeking  the  sunny  side  or  gathering 
round  a  brazier  in  winter,  and  in  the  summer,  drawing 
a  linen  shade  over  the  roof,  and  opening  all  the  doors 
for  the  free  circulation  of  air.  The  difference  between 
the  domestic  habits  of  the  ancient  and  modern  world  is 
nowhere  more  conspicuous  than  in  the  sleeping  apart- 
ments of  their  respective  houses.  If  a  merchant  or 
lawyer  of  Boston  or  New  York  could  be  carried  back 
some  eighteen  hundred  years  in  time,  and  become  the 
guest  of  a  householder  of  corresponding  position  in 


132  EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII. 

Pompeii,  he  would  be  received  in  an  atrium  adorned 
with  mosaics,  fresco  paintings,  marble  statues,  richly- 
carved  columns,  and  stucco  ornaments  —  in  comparison 
with  which  his  own  modest  drawing-room  would  seem 
a  very  commonplace  affair  —  but  when  he  came  to  re- 
tire for  the  night,  his  host  would  shew  him  into  a  small, 
dark,  miserable  closet,  without  furniture  and  without 
windows,  such  as  he  would  deem  hardly  fit  for  a  dog 
that  he  loved.  The  ancient  inhabitant  of  Pompeii, 
when  he  felt  an  exposition  of  sleep,  asked  only  for  a 
place  to  lie  down  upon  —  like  a  Neapolitan  beggar  on 
a  fine  summer's  night.  His  dressing-room  was  at  the 
public  baths,  and  there  all  the  operations  of  the  toilet 
were  performed. 

Ifi  decorations  and  embellishments,  the  difference  is 
that  in  Pompeii  they  are  seen  in  the  houses  themselves, 
but  with  us,  in  the  appurtenances  and  appendages.  We 
hang  pictures  and  engravings  upon  the  walls,  but  they 
painted  the  walls  themselves.  We  spread  costly  car- 
pets upon  the  floors  ;  they  trod  upon  marble  slabs  often 
inwrought  with  mosaics.  We  shade  our  windows  with 
rich  curtains ;  they  dispensed  with  windows  altogether. 

Most  of  the  houses  brought  to  light  in  Pompeii  are 
small,  and  there  must  have  been  a  good  deal  of  packing 
and  stowing  to  accommodate  large  families.  As  what 
may  be  called  the  common  or  public  portions  of  each 
house  absorb  what  seems  to  us  a  very  large  part  of  the 
whole,  so  the  public  buildings  and  places  of  public  re- 
sort fill  what  seems  to  modern  notions  a  disproportioned 
space  of  the  whole  extent  of  the  city.  The  residents  of 
Pompeii,  like  the  inhabitants  of  Southern  Italy  to  this 
day,  were  a  people  of  out-of-door  habits.  Their  time 


EXCURSION   TO   POMPEII.  133 

was  spent  in  places  of  public  amusement,  at  the  baths, 
in  the  courts  of  justice,  at  the  temples,  in  lounging 
about  the  forum,  and  basking  in  the  sunshine.  With- 
out books,  magazines,  and  newspapers  ;  without  letters 
to  write  ;  and  with  a  fine  climate  always  attracting 
them  into  the  open  air,  there  was  nothing  to  call  them 
home  but  the  requisitions  of  eating  and  sleeping.  One 
or  two  facts  are  expressive  upon  this  point.  Pompeii 
was  a  city  of  two  miles  in  circuit,  and  probably  did  not 
contain  more  than  twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants. 
The  portion  which  has  been  thus  far  excavated  does 
not  exceed  one-sixth  or  seventh  of  the  whole  extent ; 
yet  within  that  space,  have  been  found  an  amphitheatre 
with  accommodations  for  ten  thousand  persons,  and  a 
larger  and  smaller  theatre  ;  the  former  prepared  for 
five  thousand  persons,  and  the  latter  for  fifteen  hun- 
dred. When  we  compare  these  provisions  for  public 
amusement  in  Pompeii  with  those  of  a  city  of  similar 
extent  among  us,  we  have  a  guage  by  which  we  may 
measure  the  comparative  amount  of  domestic  habits  and 
resources  in  the  two  cases. 

In  one  respect,  the  comparison  between  Pompeii  and 
a  modern  Italian  town  is  favorable  to  the  former. 
Whenever  a  house  is  excavated  and  the  walls  and  floors 
are  first  laid  bare,  every  one  is  struck  with  the  general 
air  of  neatness  and  freshness  which  characterizes  it. 
The  colors  of  the  paintings  glow  as  if  they  had  just 
been  laid  on.  The  stucco  is  as  pure  and  white  as  if 
the  trowel  of  the  mason  had  passed  over  it  an  hour 
before.  The  marble  or  mosaic  floor  is  stainless  and 
spotless.  Frequent  whitewashings,  ablutions,  and  re- 
newals of  paintings  must  have  been  the  fashion  of  the 


134  EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII. 

place.  The  austere  spirit  of  Dutch  cleanliness  must 
have  presided  over  the  housekeeping  of  Pompeii.  I 
need  not  say  that  neatness  is  not  a  conspicuous  virtue 
among  the  people  who  live  around  Vesuvius  at  this 
day,  and  that  the  houses  of  Torre  del  Greco  or  Resina 
would  not  stand  the  examination  of  a  board  of  health, 
so  well  as  those  of  Pompeii. 

The  public  buildings  of  Pompeii,  consisting  of  tem- 
ples, basilicas,  forums,  and  theatres,  were  doubtless 
imposing  in  their  aspect  and  of  fine  architectural  forms, 
but  their  ruins  are  somewhat  disappointing  from  the 
nature  of  their  materials.  They  were  not  built  of 
marble  or  stone,  but  of  brick  covered  over  with  stucco. 
This  will  do  very  well  in  a  climate  so  mild  as  that  of 
southern  Italy  ;  but  nothing  is  more  paltry  and  shabby 
than  a  brick  ruin.  Vegetation  must  give  it  grace  and 
beauty,  and  there  is  none  here.  The  visitor  is  con- 
ducted to  a  wide  space  strewn  over  with  shafts  and  cap- 
itals of  columns,  with  fallen  pediments,  broken  walls, 
yawning  chasms  half  filled  with  rubbish,  and  shapeless 
masses  of  masonry,  and  he  is  told  that  here,  was  a 
basilica  and  there,  a  forum  and  a  temple  ;  but  unless 
his  eye  be  so  trained  as  to  see  beauty  in  deformity  and 
symmetry  in  disorder,  he  must  turn  away  discouraged 
and  disappointed. 

Under  the  guidance  of  our  well-mannered  Cicerone, 
we  saw  the  usual  points  and  objects  of  interest.  Among 
these  are,  a  fine  painting  of  Diana  and  Acteon  on  the 
wall  of  the  house  of  Sal  lust ;  a  beautiful  altar,  of  mar- 
ble, in  the  temple  of  Mercury  ;  a  Sphynx,  of  the  same 
material,  in  the  house  of  Faunus  ;  the  mosaic  labyrinth 
which  gives  its  name  to  the  house  where  it  was  found  ; 


EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII.  135 

two  pretty  and  graceful  fountains  of  shell-work ;  the 
secret  passage  for  the  priests  in  the  temple  of  Isis  ;  a 
shop  for  the  sale  of  oil  and  wine,  with  vessels  set  into 
the  counter ;  a  chest  to  hold  money,  made  of  bronze 
and  wood  —  some  of  the  latter  material  still  remaining. 

By  far  the  finest  house  within  the  walls  is  one  which 
had  been  discovered  and  laid  bare  about  four  months 
previous  to  the  date  of  our  visit,  called  the  house  of  the 
Suonatrice,  from  a  painting  of  a  female  playing  on  a 
pipe,  at  the  entrance.  This  house  was  deemed  of  such 
peculiar  interest,  that  it  was  under  the  charge  of  a 
special  custode,  and  was  only  to  be  seen  on  payment 
of  an  extra  fee."  It  was  not  of  large  size,  but  had  evi- 
dently been  occupied  by  a  person  of  ample  fortune  and 
exquisite  taste.  The  paintings  on  the  walls  were  nu- 
merous, and  in  the  most  perfect  preservation.  In  the 
rear  was  a  minute  garden  not  more  than  twenty  or 
thirty  feet  square,  with  a  fairy  fountain  in  the  centre  ; 
around  which  were  several  small  statues  of  children 
and  animals,  of  white  marble,  wrought  with  considera- 
ble skill.  The  whole  thing  had  a  very  curious  effect 
—  like  the  tasteful  baby -house  of  a  grown-up  child. 
Every  thing  in  this  house  was  in  the  most  wonderful 
preservation.  The  metal  pipes  which  distributed  the 
water,  and  the  cocks  by  which  it  was  let  off,  looked 
perfectly  suited  for  use.  Nothing  at  Pompeii  seemed 
so  real  as  this  house,  and  nowhere  else  were  the  em- 
bellishments so  numerous  and  so  costly. 

Pompeii,  though  a  Roman  city  in  its  political  rela- 
tions, was  every  where  strongly  marked  with  the  im- 
press of  the  Greek  mind.  It  stood  on  the  northern 
edge  of  that  part  of  Italy  which,  from  the  number  of 


136  EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII. 

Grecian  colonies  it  contained,  was  called  Magna  Graecia 

—  a  region  of  enchanting  beauty,  in  which  the  genius 
of  Greece  attained  its  most  luxurious  development.     It 
has  been  conjectured  that  Pompeii  had  an  unusually 
large  proportion  of  men  of  property,  who  had  been 
drawn  there  by  the  charms  of  its  situation  and  climate, 
and  that  it  thus  extended  a  liberal  patronage  to  Greek 
architects,  painters,  and  sculptors.     At  any  rate,  the 
spirit  of  Greece  still  lives  and  breathes  in  its  ashes. 
Its  temples,  as  restored  by  modern  architects,  are  Greek. 
Its  works  in  marble  and  bronze  claim  a  place  in  that 
cyclus  of  art  of  which  the  metopes  of  the  Parthenon 
are  the  highest  point  of  excellence.     The  pictures  that 
embellish  the  walls,  the  unzoned  nymphs,  the  bounding 
Bacchantes,  the  grotesque  Fauns,  the  playful  arabesques 

—  all  are  informed  with  the  airy  and  creative  spirit  of 
Greek  art. 

The  ruins  of  Pompeii  are  not  merely  an  open-air 
museum  of  curiosities,  but  they  have  great  value  in  the 
illustration  they  offer  to  Roman  history  and  Roman 
literature.  The  antiquarian  of  our  times  studies  the 
great  realm  of  the  past  with  incomparable  advantage, 
by  the  help  of  the  torch  here  lighted.  Especially,  the 
knowledge  we  here  gain,  directly  and  indirectly,  upon 
Roman  civilization  —  using  that  word  in  its  most  com- 
prehensive sense  —  is  important  both  in  character  and 
amount.  On  this  point,  scholars,  naturally  enough,  are 
led  into  exaggeration  and  overstatements,  from  taking 
one  or  two  favorable  elements  as  the  standard  by  which 
the  whole  life  is  judged.  What  do  we  learn  on  this 
subject  from  the  ruins  of  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum, 
and  the  researches  which  they  have  called  forth  ;  and 


EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII.  137 

what  was  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  industrial  rank  of 
their  inhabitants,  as  compared  with  a  city  of  the  same 
size  in  Germany,  England,  or  America  ?  So  far  as 
the  ornamental  arts  of  life  are  concerned,  their  superior 
advantages  will  be  admitted.  The  householder  in 
Pompeii  saw  himself  surrounded  with  finer  works  in 
bronze  and  marble  than  are  found  in  modern  houses  ; 
and  his  lamps,  braziers,  tripods,  and  table  furniture 
gratified  the  sense  of  beauty  more  than  our  chairs, 
tables,  and  cups  and  saucers.  Our  paper  hangings,  too, 
are  an  inferior  substitute  for  graceful  designs  drawn  in 
lively  colors  upon  a  ground  of  the  purest  white  and 
finest  grain.  But  in  the  useful  arts,  he  was  not  nearly 
so  well  off  as  we  are.  His  bolts,  locks,  and  hinges 
were  rude  and  clumsy.  The  use  of  glass  windows  was 
a  rare  and  costly  luxury.  His  house  had  no  chimney 
for  the  escape  of  smoke.  His  garden  and  farming 
tools  were  heavy  and  ill-contrived.  His  dinners  were 
not  graced  with  the  convenience  of  a  fork,  and  his  bed 
was  a  heap  of  garments  spread  upon  the  floor. 

In  all  that  relates  to  dress  and  ornament,  the  same 
inconsistency  is  observable.  The  rings,  chains,  brace- 
lets, and  broaches  worn  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
Pompeii  were,  to  say  the  least,  equal  to  the  finest 
works  of  modern  jewelry  ;  but  in  the  substantial  articles 
of  dress,  our  superiority  is  infinite.  The  substitution 
of  silk,  cotton,  and  linen  for  wool  is  an  unspeakable 
advantage  in  health  as  well  as  comfort.  Not  that  these 
materials  were  unknown  to  the  Romans,  but  their  use 
was  so  rare  and  exceptional,  as  hardly  to  be  taken  into 
account.  The  imagination  lights  up  at  the  sound  of  a 
Roman  'toga;'  but  in  point  of  fact,  it  was  neither  a 


138  EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII. 

comfortable  nor  convenient  garb.  It  was  an  immense 
shawl,  made  of  wool  of  the  natural  color,  imperfectly 
cleansed  from  the  animal  oil,  and  by  no  means  of 
the  delicate  and  flexible  texture  of  our  fine  flannels. 
Imagine  a  fine  gentleman  sweltering  under  this  load  of 
woollen,  on  a  hot  day  in  August,  and  we  shall  be  dis- 
posed to  credit  ,the  statement  of  Pliny,  that  the  bath 
was  sometimes  resorted  to  seven  times  in  one  day. 
The  grace  and  beauty  of  the  female  form  are  also  seen 
in  modern  times  to  greater  advantage,  not  only  from 
the  improvement  in  materials,  but  from  the  more  be- 
coming and  convenient  form  and  fashion  of  the  gar- 
ments worn.  '  Tunica '  and  '  stola  '  have  a  more 
imposing  sound  than  gown  or  petticoat;  but  their  loose, 
flowing  and  bagging  character  must  have  been  awk- 
ward and  unsightly  —  confounding  fine  with  ordinary 
forms  —  and  in  a  high  wind  must  have  kept  their  fair 
wearers  in  a  constant  state  of  alarm.  Shoes  and  stock- 
ings, too,  it  will  be  admitted,  are  better  than  sandals, 
though  sculptors  say  that  the  use  of  the  former  has 
spoiled  the  foot. 

But  the  superiority  of  modern  times  is  mostly  seen 
in  the  greater  variety  of  occupations  and  resources 
which  they  furnish,  and  especially  in  the  higher  char- 
acter of  those  resources.  Man  is  an  animal  that  can- 
not long  be  left  in  safety  without  occupation :  the 
growth  of  his  fallow  nature  is  apt  to  run  into  weeds. 
Imagine  newspapers  and  periodical  literature  struck 
out  of  existence,  and  books  and  letter-writing  confined 
to  a  favored  few,  and  can  it  be  doubted  that  all  forms 
of  demoralizing  and  corrupting  amusement  would  put 
on  a  fearfully  increased  amount  of  temptation  —  that 


EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII.  139 

the  dram-shop,  the  gam  ing-saloon,  the  theatre,  and 
haunts  of  yet  grosser  vice  would  be  resorted  to  by  far 
greater  throngs  ?  What  was  the  state  of  Pompeii  ? 
There,  the  wealthy  citizen,  leaving  a  house  in  which 
Grecian  art  had  surrounded  him  with  an  atmosphere 
of  ideal  beauty,  went  to  the  amphitheatre,  where  he  sat 
for  hours  witnessing  the  most  cruel  and  brutalizing  of 
sports ;  men  hacking  each  other  to  pieces,  or  fighting 
with  wild  beasts,  till  the  sand  of  the  arena  became 
soaked  with  blood.  The  tasteful  amateur  of  art,  when 
we  look  upon  him  from  the  side  of  humanity  and  phi- 
lanthropy, is  not  much  above  a  New  Zealand  can- 
nibal. Nor  is  this  all.  The  discoveries  in  Pompeii  and 
Herculaneum  present  a  fearful  weight  of  evidence,  in 
addition  to  that  which  literature  had  previously  fur- 
nished, that  among  the  Romans  the  vice  of  cruelty  was 
attended  with  its  twin  vice  of  lust.  The  foulest  epi- 
grams of  Martial,  the  grossest  descriptions  in  Petro- 
nius  and  Apuleius,  are  illustrated  to  the  eye  in  the 
remains  of  these  cities,  in  sculptured  and  pictorial  rep- 
resentations, the  very  remembrance  of  which  pollutes 
the  imagination.  The  husband  and  father  in  Pompeii 
saw  daily,  before  his  own  eyes  and  the  eyes  of  his  wife 
and  daughters,  subjects  delineated  which  no  man  should 
ever  look  at  a  second  time.  Whether  we  regard  such 
things  as  cause  or  effect,  they  are  equally  mournful  to 
contemplate.  What  must  have  been  the  tone  of  con- 
versation and  sentiment,  and  the  standard  of  morals  in 
a  community  where  such  atrocities  were  tolerated,  not 
to  say,  favored  ?  There  is  much  in  the  character  and 
history  of  the  Roman  people  which  we  may  justly 
admire ;  their  energy,  their  perseverance,  their  con- 


140  EXCURSION    TO    POMPEII. 

stancy  in  adversity,  their  political  wisdom,  and  espe- 
cially their  legislative  and  jural  constructiveness ;  but  we 
are  not  called  upon,  in  so  doing,  to  overlook  the  most 
obvious  moral  distinctions,  and  insist  that  the  influences 
which  formed  their  civilization  were  as  efficacious  in 
training  the  individual  to  excellence  as  in  making  the 
nation  powerful. 

The  work  of  excavation  at  Pompeii  goes  on  slowly. 
Sir  Wm.  Gell,  in  1835,  estimated  that  about  one-eighth 
only  of  the  area  enclosed  by  the  walls  and  supposed 
suburbs  had  been  laid  bare  ;  and  the  labors  of  the 
workmen  have  not  proceeded  at  any  greater  speed 
since  that  time  than  before.  The  sheer  wall  of  dark 
gray  gravel  which  bounds  the  excavated  portion  can- 
not be  looked  upon  without  the  deepest  interest  and 
curiosity ;  and  the  imagination  busies  itself  in  depicting 
the  wealth  which  lies  hidden  in  its  silent  depths.  No 
one  can  view  it  without  wishing  to  have  his  eyes 
touched  with  that  magic  ointment  of  the  Arabian  tale, 
which  gave  the  power  of  seeing  all  the  treasures  which 
are  concealed  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  It  is  com- 
mon for  travellers  to  express  impatience  at  the  slow 
rate  at  which  the  excavations  proceed,  and  to  complain 
that  the  government  does  not  employ  the  utmost  avail- 
able amount  of  force,  until  the  whole  city  is  uncovered  ; 
but  there  is  something  to  be  said  on  the  other  side. 
The  shroud  of  earth  and  ashes  preserves  what  it  hides. 
As  soon  as  a  house  is  exposed  to  the  sun  and  air, 
the  process  of  decay  begins.  The  fine  colors  of  the 
frescoes  fade,  the  rain  washes  away  the  stucco,  and 
the  whole  aspect  of  things  undergoes  a  deteriorating 
change.  For  the  sake,  then,  of  those  who  come  after 


CAMALDOLI    CONVENT.  141 

us,  it  is  better  that  the  work  should  go  on  moderately  ; 
that  they  may  have  the  privilege  of  seeing  the  same 
fresh  revelations  which  have  been  vouchsafed  to  us ; 
and  not  be  obliged  to  content  themselves  with  records ' 
of  faded  beauty  and  traditions  of  decayed  splendor. 

CAMALDOLI    CONVENT. 

Tempted  by  the  first  day  of  sunshine  and  blue  sky  we 
had  recently  enjoyed,  and  by  the  convenient  proximity 
of  a  little  congress  of  donkeys,  we  one  day  chartered 
two  of  these  quadrupeds  and  a  biped  guide  for  an  excur- 
sion to  the  Camaldoli  Convent,  on  the  height  above 
Naples,  about  five  miles  distant. 

The  donkey  flourishes  in  great  vigor  on  the  soil  of 
Naples ;  and  he  is  well  fitted  for  excursions  in  the 
neighborhood,  where  there  is  a  good  deal  of  up-hill 
work  to  be  done,  and  where  every  body,  who  has  an 
eye  in  his  head,  is  willing  to  move  at  a  slow  pace. 
Justice  has  hardly  been  done  to  the  moral  qualities  of 
this  respectable  quadruped.  He  is  strong,  sure-footed, 
and  easy ;  and  as  to  his  obstinacy,  we  have  never 
heard  but  one  side  of  the  story.  If  ever  a  misanthro- 
pic donkey  should  publish  his  autobiography,  he  may 
have  much  to  say  of  the  obstinacy  of  man. 

The  road  to  the  convent  was  a  gradual  ascent.  A 
few  weeks  later,  the  trees  and  vines  would  have  been 
in  full  leaf,  and  given  it  a  grace  which  then  it  wanted. 
But  it  was  not  too  early  for  flowers,  which  grew  all 
along  the  path  in  the  greatest  profusion ;  in  some 
places,  spreading  a  rich  carpet  which  concealed  the 
soil  on  which  they  grew.  There  were  violets,  peri- 


142  CAMALDOLI    CONVENT. 

winkles,  and  a  species  of  aster ;  all  as  blue  as  the  sky 
which  hung  over  them.  We  reached  the  convent  gate 
at  about  half  past  one,  were  received  by  one  of  the 
brethren,  and  conducted  into  the  garden.  The  view 
from  this  spot  seemed  to  me  at  the  time,  and  seems 
now  as  I  recall  it,  the  most  beautiful  I  had  ever  seen. 
It  is  very  extensive,  taking  in  the  whole  bay,  Vesuvius, 
Capri,  Ischia,  Procida,  Nisida,  and  Cape  Misenum. 
The  proportion  of  land  and  water  is  precisely  what 
the  eye  demands,  and  the  forms  into  which  the  land- 
scape is  moulded  embrace  every  element  of  softness, 
beauty,  and  grandeur  of  which  the  mind  can  conceive. 
The  monk  who  accompanied  us  was  a  good-looking 
young  man,  dressed  in  flowing  robes  of  white  woollen, 
with  a  mixture  of  apathy  and  dejection  in  his  counte- 
nance, and  a  certain  slowness  and  difficulty  of  speech, 
as  if  his  articulating  muscles  were  so  rarely  called 
into  play  that  they  had  become  stiff.  He  had  the  air 
of  a  man  whose  mind  was  fading  away  from  want  of 
nutrition,  like  the  light  of  a  candle  burnt  to  its  socket. 
When  he  learned  that  we  were  from  America,  he 
asked  us  for  some  tobacco,  as  a  remedy  for  the  tooth- 
ache, with  which  he  said  he  was  troubled.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  I  regretted  my  abstinence  from 
the  Virginian  weed,  in  all  its  forms ;  and  felt  some- 
thing like  a  pang  that  none  of  our  party  had  the  power 
of  throwing  this  small  pleasure  upon  his  dreary  path. 
His  notions  of  localities  in  America  were  very  crude. 
One  of  my  companions  remarked  that  he  was  a  hand- 
some man  but  knew  little  of  geography.  He  made 
some  inquiries  about  flowers,  and  especially  the  dahlia, 
which  apparently  he  had  never  seen.  Many  of  his 


CAMALDOLI    CONVENT.  143 

brethren  were  slowly  and  silently  pacing  about  the 
grounds,  like  white  clouds  drifting  before  the  languid 
winds  of  noon.  Our  conductor  led  us  into  the  room 
appropriated  to  the  reception  of  strangers,  and  with 
hospitable  kindness  set  some  wine  and  water  before 
us,  and  urged  us  to  remain  till  some  refreshment  should 
be  prepared ;  which  we  with  proper  acknowledgments 
declined.  We  offered  him  some  money,  which  he  at 
first  refused ;  but  upon  our  pressing  it  upon  him,  he 
took  it  and  gave  it  to  one  of  a  group  of  three  men 
who  stood  near  us,  and  who,  ag  he  told  us,  were  out 
of  employment  and  had  come  to  the  convent  to  beg. 

There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  the  conventual  build- 
ings themselves.  On  one  of  the  walls  is  a  kind  of  sun- 
dial, with  a  Latin  inscription  which  I  thought  very 
happy : 

'  Horam  dum  quseris,  sensim  tua  fata  propinquant, 
Haec  memora,  et  tibi  non  peritura  para.' 

I  took  leave  of  our  monk  with  much  interest,  and  for 
many  days  his  face  and  figure  haunted  me  with  painful 
recollections.  His  mind  was  not  quite  paralyzed,  and 
retained  the  power  to  struggle  towards  any  friendly  ray 
of  light  and  knowledge  that  opened  before  it.  He  had 
yet  some  years  to  travel  before  reaching  the  meridian 
of  life  ;  and  what  a  path  of  dreary  monotony  lay  before 
him  !  No  expansion,  no  progress,  no  development ;  but 
merely  continued  existence  ;  day  after  day  falling  upon 
.his  heart  and  mind,  like  rain-drops  on  the  rock,  quick- 
ening no  growth  of  thought,  feeling,  or  experience.  If 
a  man  so  placed  be  conscious  of  the  paralyzing  influ- 


144  ASCENT    OF    VESUVIUS. 

ences  around  him  —  if  they  awaken  an  impulse  to 
struggle  and  resist  —  if  he  can  see  the  iron  shroud  close 
upon  him,  and  light  afterlight  disappear,  —  with  what 
bitterness  of  spirit  must  he  Jook  out  upon  the  lovely 
prospect  around  him,  and  how  hateful  must  the  beauty 
seem  to  him  which  he  can  only  see  through  the  bars  of 
a  cage.  He  cannot  feel  himself  inspired  and  elevated, 
but  only  mocked  and  flouted,  by  the  restless  waves,  the 
free  winds,  the  unguided  clouds.  Better  the  dreariest 
heath,  the  most  unsightly  moor,  that  bears  the  noble 
harvest  of  action  and  opportunity. 

Let  me  not  be  misunderstood.  Let  me  not  be  sup- 
posed to  join  in  any  vulgar  Protestant  cant  against  con- 
vents and  monasteries,  monks  and  nuns.  I  am  aware 
of  the  great  good  which  monastic  establishments  have 
done  in  their  day  ;  and  I  admit,  that  even  at  this  time 
such  places  of  retreat  may  open  sheltering  havens  of 
rest  to  those  who  have  fought  with  life  and  been  con- 
quered by  it ;  and  that,  especially,  the  purer  and  more 
spiritual  nature  of  woman  may  live  and  expand  in  an 
atmosphere  too  much  deprived  of  vital  force  to  stimu- 
late the  coarser  texture  of  man's.  But  life  is  but 
another  name  for  development ;  and  to  take  a  youth, 
with  an  empty  mind,  an  unfurnished  memory,  without 
experience,  and  without  resources,  and  immerse  him  in 
the  dreary  grave  of  a  monastery,  what  is  it  but  to  give 
a  draught  of  slow  poison  to  the  soul  itself  ? 

ASCENT    OF    VESUVIUS. 

No  mountain  on  the  globe  is  so  well  known  as  Vesu- 
vius. Its  vicinity  to  a  great  capital  visited  by  so  many 


ASCENT    OF    VESUVIUS.  145 

curious  and  so  many  enlightened  travellers,  and   in 
which  a  pulse  of  scientific  vitality  has  never  ceased  to 
beat,  in  spite  of  the  indolent  and  pleasure-loving  habits 
of  the  great  mass  of  the  inhabitants,  has  made  its  his- 
tory and  organic  structure  familiar  to  all  who  are  inter- 
ested  in  such  inquiries.     Carefully   abstaining,   then, 
from   all  display  of  cheap  learning  and  second-hand 
speculations,  I  shall  confine  myself  strictly  to  a  narra- 
tive of  what  came  under  my  own  observation,  during  a 
single  ascent.     This  enterprise  is  neither  difficult  nor 
dangerous  ;  and  may  be  so  managed  as  not  to  be  very 
fatiguing.     The  great  laws  of  political  economy  regu- 
lating  supply   and    demand   are    here   in   full   force. 
Every  body  wishes  to  go  to  the  top  of  Vesuvius,  and 
consequently  there  are  ways  and  means  contrived  for 
getting  every  body  up.     As  to  the  best  time  for  making 
such  an   excursion,  there   is  a  difference   of  opinion 
among  the  learned.     The  most  energetic  class  of  trav- 
ellers—  those  who  are   every  where   disposed  to  dive 
the  deepest  and  stay  under  water  the  longest  —  will 
insist  upon  it  that  the  visitor  should  leave  his  comfort- 
able bed  at  midnight,  climb  up  the  mountain  by  torch- 
light, and  see  the  sun  rise  from  the  top.     But  nature's 
voice,  through  all  her  works,  protests  against  such  rude 
disruptions  of  ordinary  habits  ;  and  without  wishing  to 
speak  disrespectfully  of  sunrises,  it  may  be  observed, 
that  those  persons  who,  from  unnatural  tastes  or  en- 
forced circumstances,  are  in  the  habit  of  seeing  sun- 
rises, take  rather  a  malicious  pleasure  in  overstating 
their  claims,  which  a  judicial  eye  easily  pronounces  to 
be  inferior  to  those  of  sunsets.    Besides,  Vesuvius  is  so 
placed  that  the  view  of  the  eastern  horizon  is  shut  out 

VOL.    II.  10 


146  ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS. 

by  intervening  ridges  ;  but  on  the  west,  the  broad  disk 
of  the  setting  sun,  as  it  sinks  into  the  sea,  is  in  full 
sight.  In  this  view,  it  is  therefore  advisable  to  leave 
Naples  early  in  the  afternoon,  see  the  sunset  from  the 
summit,  remain  there  till  after  the  darkness  comes  on, 
and  return  in  the  evening ;  and  if  the  traveller  can  find 
a  young  moon  to  light  him  home,  so  much  the  better. 
This,  at  any  rate,  was  the  plan  which,  after  mature  re- 
flection, was  adopted  by  me  and  the  friends  who  went 
with  me,  and  we  certainly  had  no  reason  to  regret  the 
choice. 

We  left  Naples  between  twelve  and  one,  and  drove 
to  Resina,  which  we  reached  in  about  an  hour  —  the 
whole  distance  swarming  with  population,  and  present- 
ing an  almost  unbroken  succession  of  houses.  On 
arriving  at  Resina,  we  found  a  congregation  of  horses 
and  guides  at  hand,  waiting  to  be  engaged  ;  and  in  a 
few  moments  the  arrangements  were  made,  each  of  the 
party  and  a  guide  being  mounted  on  horseback.  This 
business  of  conducting  travellers  up  Vesuvius  appeared 
to  absorb  all  the  industrial  activity  of  the  place  ;  for  the 
whole  town  seemed  clustered  about  our  heels.  Beggars 

OO 

swarmed  around  us  in  such  number  and  variety  as  no 
one  can  have  any  conception  of,  that  has  not  visited 
this  land  flowing  with  corn  and  wine  and  oil.  A  rabble 
rout  of  boys  of  all  ages  was  darting  to  and  fro,  like  so 
many  wingless  swallows  ;  some  offering  fruit  for  sale, 
some  thrusting  stout  sticks  into  our  hands,  some  beg- 
ging ;  and  the  whole  company,  boys,  beggars,  and 
guides,  roaring,  screaming,  and  gesticulating,  to  the 
utmost  capacity  of  their  lungs  and  muscles.  Women 
and  young  children  gazed  upon  us  from  the  doors  and 


ASCENT   OF   VESUVIUS.  147 

windows  as  we  passed  by,  and  when  we  got  fairly 
under  way,  we  were  escorted  for  some  distance  by  a 
set  of  ragamuffins,  such  as  follows  a  drum  and  fife  in. 
New  England. 

After  leaving  the  town  and  gradually  dropping  our 
escort,  we  entered  upon  a  continually  ascending  path 
which  led  us  over  the  remains  of  old  eruptions.  But 
time  had  so  crumbled  and  decomposed  the  volcanic 
products,  as  to  form  a  loose  and  friable  soil  of  great 
fertility.  Vines  grew  thickly  and  luxuriantly  ;  trees 
stood  in  goodly  rows  ;  and  garden  vegetables  were  ex- 
tensively cultivated.  The  bean  plant,  at  that  time  in 
full  blossom,  filled  the  air  with  its  delicate  fragrance. 
The  only  thing  that  seemed  wanting  was  grass.  There 
were  no  smooth  lawns  or  green  pastures,  but  the  sur- 
face of  the  soil  every  where  was  of  an  uniform  iron- 
gray  tint.  Every  turn  of  the  road  revealed  enchanting 
views  of  Naples  and  the  neighboring  coast ;  always 
similar,  yet  never  exactly  the  same. 

In  about  an  hour  after  leaving  Resina,  we  reached 
the  Hermitage,  so  called.  Here  are  two  buildings  — 
one,  a  sort  of  osteria,  or  place  of  entertainment ;  the 
other,  of  larger  size  and  more  imposing  aspect,  had 
the  appearance  of  some  kind  of  public  establishment. 
A  number  of  beggars  and  idlers  were,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  lounging  about  the  door  or  basking  in  the  sun 
under  the  wall.  Two  or  three  carriages  stood  near  by, 
which  had  brought  parties.  We  here  took  a  lunch; 
a  measure  by  no  means  to  be  commended  for  imita- 
tion, in  consideration  of  the  violent  muscular  exertion 
which  must  so  soon  follow. 

After  remaining  at  the  Hermitage  about  an  hour  we 


148  ASCENT    OF    VESUVIUS. 

again  mounted  and  rode  about  a  mile  further,  the  road 
being  nearly  on  a  level  —  the  cone  of  Vesuvius  lying 
on  the  right,  and  the  broken  ridge  of  Mount  Somma  on 
the  left.  Mount  Somma,  when  viewed  from  a  distance, 
looks  like  a  separate  peak,  but  is  really  a  precipitous 
escarpment,  surrounding  for  half  a  circle  the  true  sum- 
mit of  Vesuvius.  An  inverted  cup,  in  half  a  saucer, 
.will  serve  as  a  homely  illustration  of  the  relations  of  the 
two.  This  circular  ridge  of  Mount  Somma  is  supposed 
to  be  part  of  the  edge  or  lip  of  the  ancient  crater  of  the 
mountain,  prior  to  the  first  recorded  eruption,  A.  D.  79. 
After  leaving  the  Hermitage,  a  change  came  over  the 
character  of  the  tract  which  the  road  traversed.  Every 
thing  was  grim,  savage,  and  forlorn.  No  form  of  vege- 
table life  gladdened  the  eye,  and  not  an  insect  animated 
the  scene.  Nature  seemed  to  have  retired  from  the 
unequal  contest,  and  given  over  the  whole  region  to  the 
stern  genius  of  desolation.  The  landscape  was  lying 
dead  upon  its  bier,  with  ashes  strewn  upon  the  corpse. 
Every  thing  around  bore  the  impress  of  ruin,  struggle, 
and  conflict.  Masses  of  lava?  of  various  shades  of 
brown  and  gray  according  to  the  dates  of  their  deposit, 
were  piled  upon  and  tumbled  over  each  other,  cleft 
into  seams,  and  twisted  into  uncouth  shapes  —  the 
whole  scene  resembling  a  field  of  battle  covered  with 
the  wrecks  and  fragments  of  a  deadly  fight.  The  only 
sound  heard  was  ihe  roaring  and  murmuring  of  the 
mountain  —  a  heavy,  sullen  sound,  like  the  plunge  of  a 
large  body  into  the  sea  —  recurring  at  brief  and  regu- 
lar intervals ;  as  if  the  fire-king  were  warning  rash 
intruders  against  the  peril  of  approach.  Reaching  at 
lost  the  base  ^of  the  great  cone,  we  dismounted  and 


ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS.  149 

entered  upon  the  only  fatiguing  part  of  the  whole 
ascent,  the  climbing  the  sides  of  the  cone.  This  is 
of  only  moderate  height,  but  it  is  composed  of  loose, 
soft,  scoria?,  of  the  consistency  of  fine  gravel ;  the  in- 
clination of  the  sides  being  just  enough  to  keep  each 
particle  from  rolling  down  to  a  lower  level.  At  every 
step  the  foot  sinks  and  slides,  and  the  toil  is  the  most 
wearisome  and  heart-breaking  that  can  be  conceived 
of.  With  some  experience  as  a  pedestrian,  nothing 
that  I  had  ever  known  in  the  way  of  foot-work  bears 
any  comparison  to  this.  It  is  like  such  walking  as  we 
sometimes  dream  of,  when  the  feet  seem  shod  with 
lead  or  are  glued  to  the  ground,  and  we  struggle  and 
strain  but  never  get  on.  The  presence  of  a  piece  of 
lava,  firm  enough  to  keep  its  place  and  large  enough 
for  the  foot  to  rest  upon,  is  greeted  with  a  benediction. 
The  lazy  and  luxurious  may  have  helps  and  alleviations 
in  this  toilsome  ascent.  They  may  have  a  guide  to 
precede  them,  with  a  strap  round  his  shoulders  by  which 
they  are  pulled  up  ;  and  another  in  the  rear,  to  push 
them  along.  Those  who  are  too  delicate,  too  feeble, 
or  too  old  for  even  this  modified  form  of  muscular  exer- 
tion, can  be  carried  up  in  a  sedan  chair.  With  many 
pauses,  many  deep-drawn  respirations,  much  taking  off 
the  hat,  and  much  wondering  when  it  will  be  all  over, 
the  summit  is  at  last  reached  —  for  me,  who  disdained 
all  assistance  but  that  of  a  stout  stick,  it  occupied  about 
an  hour  and  a  quarter.  Two  or  three  other  parties 
were  going  up  at  the  same  time,  and  on  looking  back 
in  the  pauses  of  labor,  it  was  amusing  to  see  a  long 
string  of  men  and  women  panting  up  the  steep,  with 
guides  pulling  and  pushing  them  ;  some  full  of  pluck 


150  ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS. 

and  spirit,  and  some  apparently  dead-beat  and  deaf  to 
the  encouragements  of  their  companions  and  the  ear- 
nest and  voluble  assurances  of  their  guides.  Besides 
these,  there  were  several  men  and  boys  who  seemed  to 
be  going  up  on  their  own  account,  some  carrying  fruit, 
loaves  of  bread,  and  bottles  of  wine,  and  some,  empty- 
handed,  intending  to  pick  up  a  few  grani  by  lighting 
sticks  at  a  bed  of  lava,  or  putting  copper  coins  into 
it  till  they  became  encrusted.  One  man  carried  a 
heavy  basket  of  oranges  and  bottles  of  wine  on  his 
head,  and  yet  walked  up  the  hill  with  hardly  a  pause, 
and  apparently  with  little  more  effort  than  if  he  had 
been  on  the  Toledo  at  Naples. 

It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when  we  reached  the  top 
of  the  great  cone,  and  stood  face  to  face  with  all  the 
terrors  and  sublimities  of  Vesuvius.  Before  us,  at  a 
distance  of  about  three  hundred  yards,  was  a  second 
and  smaller  cone  of  ashes,  the  vent  or  funnel  through 
which  the  fiery  contents  of  the  volcano,  which  for  many 
days  had  been  in  a  state  of  unusual  activity,  were 
ejected.  At  intervals  of  about  a  minute,  large  quanti- 
ties of  red-hot  stones  were  thrown  into  the  air,  through 
the  opening  at  the  top  of  the  cone,  accompanied  by  a  loud 
crashing  and  hissing  sound,  very  like  that  made  by  a 
large  wave  breaking  upon  a  shingly  beach.  The  cone 
appeared  to  be  from  three  to  five  hundred  feet  high,  yet 
in  many  cases  so  prodigious  was  the  projectile  force, 
that  masses  of  stone  of  considerable  size  were  thrown 
to  a  height  equal  to  that  of  the  cone  itself,  and  the 
heavy  thump,  with  which  they  fell  upon  its  ashy  sides, 
had  a  sound  of  death  in  it.  As  there  was  very  little 
wind,  the  showers  of  descending  stones  dropped  in  a 


ASCENT    OF   VESUVIUS.  151 

defined  circle,  so  that  the  line  of  danger  was  easily 
marked  ;  and  a  few  moment's  attention  enabled  one  to 
select  a  post  of  observation  which  was  perfectly  safe, 
though  near  enough  to  the  perilous  edge  of  the  fiery 
rain  to  give  the  blood  a  more  rapid  movement  than 
common.  On  every  side,  the  scene  was  one  of  the 
most  solemn  and  awful  desolation  —  the  sublime  archi- 
tecture of  ruin  —  peaks,  dells,  and  plains  of  funereal 
lava  —  the  beds  of  extinct  fire-torrents  —  the  surface 
every  where  tossed  and  broken,  as  if  a  stormy  sea 
had  been  arrested  in  a  moment  and  turned  into  a  solid 
mass.  It  was  the  most  striking  embodiment  of  death 
brought  into  immediate  contrast  with  the  most  intense 
and  fiery  life. 

Between  the  spot  where  I  stood  and  the  base  of  the 
cone  there  was  a  constant  oozing  and  flowing  forth  of 
streams  of  lava,  the  general  appearance  of  which  did 
not  quite  correspond  with  the  impressions  I  had  formed 
of  it.  It  was  a  tamer  and  less  formidable  thing  than  I 
had  supposed.  It  did  not  leap  forth  from  any  defined 
vent  or  orifice,  but  seemed  to  exude  from  the  soil  like 
pitch  from  a  pine.  I  had  imagined  that  it  was  like  a 
stream  of  molten  metal  running  from  a  furnace,  and 
smiting  upon  the  eye  with  intolerable  splendor.  But 
the  surface  cools  immediately  upon  exposure  to  the 
air,  and  after  gliding  a  few  feet,  it  looks  like  a  contin- 
uous mass  of  compact  and  glowing  coals,  on  the  top  of 
which  lies  a  blackened  crust  of  coke  and  charcoal.  Its 
rate  of  progress  is,  or  was,  as  I  saw  it,  very  slow.  It 
flowed  along  a  well-defined  trench  or  channel,  the  edge 
of  which,  by  daylight,  did  not  differ  materially  in  ap- 
pearance from  the  cooled  surface  of  the  lava,  so  that 


152  ASCENT    OF    VESUVIUS. 

it  was  mainly  by  the  slow  motion  of  the  latter,  that 
the  firm  substance  was  distinguished  from  the  fluid. 
Sometimes  it  fell  over  a  sheer  descent  of  a  few  feet, 
forming  a  glowing  fire-fall  —  in  imitation  of  water 
tumbling  over  a  rocky  ledge.  The  cool  surface  would 
be  the  first  to  drop  ofFat  the  edge  or  angle  of  the  wall, 
leaving  a  sheet  or  line  of  pure  fire.  The  glowing 
stream  could  be  approached  near  enough  to  thrust  a 
stick  into  it,  though  such  neighborhood  was  too  uncom- 
fortable to  be  borne  for  a  long  time. 

The  day  of  my  ascent  was  the  seventeenth  of  March, 
and  of  course  the  sun  set  at  about  six.  As  the  veil  of 
darkness  was  gradually  drawn  over  the  landscape,  the 
impression  of  the  scene  grew  deeper,  and  its  sublimity 
more  awful  and  overpowering.  The  lava,  that  had  a 
faint  and  sickly  gleam  while  the  sun  was  upon  it,  now 
burned  with  a  fierce,  deep  red,  that  was  at  once  beau- 
tiful and  fearful.  All  around,  in  spots  removed  from 
the  flowing  mass,  ruddy  streaks  of  fire  shot  up  through 
the  crevices  of  the  broken  soil.  The  red-hot  stones 
that  were  ejected  from  the  cone  could  be  followed  in 
every  point  of  their  flight,  till  they  rose  so  high  in  the 
darkening  air  as-  to  present  only  a  quivering  point  of 
light  to  the  eye.  The  smoke  and  fine  ashes  also 
thrown  from  the  cone,  passing  off  in  wreaths  and  curls, 
were  touched  with  changing  colors  of  red,  orange,  and 
yellow.  To  complete  the  marvels  of  this  indescribable 
scene,  a  young  moon  was  high  in  the  calm,  blue 
heavens  above,  whose  rays  dappled  the  gray  waste  with 
lights  of  silver  and  shadows  of  ebony,  and  blended  with 
the  broad  red  banners  of  the  lava  streams  and  the 
smoke  and  upward-shooting  stars  of  the  cone. 


ASCENT    OF    VESUVIUS.  153 

The  effect  produced  by  the  combination  of  the  sepa- 
rate elements  which  I  have  enumerated  is  beyond  all 
power  of  description.  Of  all  the  works  of  God  upon 
which  I  have  ever  looked,  including  Niagara,  Mount 
Blanc,  the  pass  of  the  Stelvio,  and  the  ocean,  by  far  the 
most  awful  and  impressive  was  the  cone  of  Vesuvius 
as  I  saw  it.  Nothing  viewed  under  the  ordinary  condi- 
tions of  life  is  any  preparation  for  a  volcano  in  a  state 
of  activity.  This  is  not  the  case  with  other  striking 
phenomena  of  nature.  A  hill  is  suggestive  of  the 
highest  mountain  ;  a  lake,  of  the  ocean  ;  and  the  dash 
of  a  mountain-stream  over  a  ledge  of  rocks,  of  Niagara. 
But  the  element  of  fire  we  usually  see  only  in  small 
masses  and  under  manageable  conditions.  Even  in 
conflagrations  we  grapple  with  it  and  subdue  it.  But 
here  upon  the  cone  of  Vesuvius  we  see  it  poured  out 
like  the  floods,  and  piled  up  like  the  mountains.  It  is 
a  new  revelation  of  omnipotent  power,  and  of  the 
weakness  of  man. 

Between  seven  and  eight  we  turned  our  faces  home- 
wards. The  descent  of  the  cone,  which  had  taken  so 
long  to  climb,  was  accomplished  in  a  few  minutes,  the 
force  of  gravity  doing  all  the  work,  the  will  being  only 
called  upon  to  keep  the  body  upright.  The  ride  to 
Resina  by  moonlight  was  a  tranquillizing  influence 
after  the  strong  agitations  and  excitements  of  the  day. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Excursion  to  Sorrento  —  Villa  Reale.    Grotto  of  Posilippo.    Virgil's  Tomb  — 
Excursion  to  Baise  —  Campo  Santo  —  San  Carlo  Theatre. 


EXCURSION    TO    SORRENTO. 

ON  the  morning  of  March  19th,  I  left  Naples  for 
Sorrento,  making  one  of  a  party  of  five.  The  cars 
took  us  to  Castellamare,  a  town  beautifully  situated 
between  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  much  resorted 
to  by  the  Neapolitans  in  the  heats  of  summer.  A  lover 
of  nature  could  hardly  find  a  spot  of  more  varied  attrac- 
tions. Before  him  spreads  the  unrivalled  bay  —  dotted 
with  sails  and  unfolding  a  broad  canvas,  on  which  the 
most  glowing  colors  and  the  most  vivid  lights  are 
dashed  —  a  mirror  in  which  the  crimson  and  gold  of 
morning,  the  blue  of  noon,  and  the  orange  and  yellow- 
green  of  sunset  behold  a  lovelier  image  of  themselves 
—  a  gentle  and  tideless  sea,  whose  waves  break  upon 
the  shore  like  caresses,  and  never  like  angry  blows. 
Should  he  ever  become  weary  of  waves  and  languish 
for  woods,  he  has  only  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  sea 
and  climb  the  hills  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  he  will  find 
himself  in  the  depth  of  sylvan  and  mountain  solitudes 


EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO.  155 

—  in  a  region  of  vines,  running  streams,  deep-shadowed 
valleys,  and  broad-armed  oaks  —  where  he  will  hear 
the  ring-dove  coo  and  see  the  sensitive  hare  dart  across 
the  forest  aisles.  A  great  city"~is  within  an  hour's 
reach  ;  and  the  shadow  of  Vesuvius  hangs  over  the 
landscape,  keeping  the  imagination  awake  by  touches 
of  mystery  and  terror. 

From  Castellamare  to  Sorrento,  a  noble  road  has 
within  a  few  years  past  been  constructed  between  the 
mountains  and  the  sea,  which  in  many  places  are  so 
close  together  that  the  width  of  the  road  occupies  the 
whole  intervening  space.  On  the  right,  the  traveller 
looks  down  a  cliff  of  some  hundred  feet  or  more  upon 
the  bay,  whose  glossy  floor  is  dappled  with  patches  of 
green,  purple,  and  blue  ;  the  effect  of  varying  depth, 
or  light  and  shade,  or  clusters  of  rock  overgrown  with 
sea-weed  scattered  over  a  sandy  bottom.*  On  the  left 
is  a  mountain  wall,  very  steep,  many  hundred  feet  high, 
with  huge  rocks  projecting  out  of  it,  many  of  them  big 
enough  to  crush  a  carriage  and  its  contents,  or  sweep 
them  into  the  sea.  This  was  no  fanciful  apprehension  ; 
for  not  long  before,  two  or  three  immense  masses,  each 
as  large  as  a  good  sized  cottage,  had  fallen  from  the 
cliff,  and  were  blocking  up  the  road  so  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  round  or  over  them.  The  carriages 

*  The  colors  of  the  Bay  of  Naples  were  a  constant  surprise 
and  delight  to  me,  from  the  predominance  of  blue  and  purple 
over  the  grays  and  greens  of  our  coast.  I  was  glad  to  find 
that  my  impressions  on  this  point  were  confirmed  by  the  prac- 
tised eye  of  Cooper.  There  seem  to  be  some  elements  affecting 
the  color  of  the  sea,  not  derived  from  the  atmosphere  or  the 
reflection  of  the  heavens. 


156  EXCURSION   TO    SORRENTO. 

came  to  a  full  stop  here,  and  the  occupants  were 
obliged  to  scramble  over  the  obstructions,  and  charter 
a  new  conveyance  on  the  other  side.  The  road  com- 
bined rare  elements  of  beauty  ;  for  it  nowhere  pursued 
a  monotonous  straight  line,  but  followed  the  windings 
and  turnings  of  this  many-curved  shore.  Sometimes  it 
was  cut  through  solid  ledges  of  rock  ;  sometimes  it 
was  carried  on  bridges,  over  deep  gorges  and  chasms, 
wide  at  the  top  and  narrowing  towards  the  bottom, 
where  a  slender  stream  tripped  down  to  the  sea.  The 
sides  of  these  glens  were  often  planted  with  orange 
and  lemon-trees ;  and  we  could  look  down  upon 
their  rounded  tops,  presenting,  with  their  dark-green 
foliage,  their  bright,  almost  luminous  fruit,  and  their 
snowy  blossoms,  the  finest  combination  of  colors  which 
the  vegetable  kingdom,  in  the  temperate  zone,  at  least, 
can  shew.  The  scenery  was  in  the  highest  degree 
grand,  beautiful,  and  picturesque  —  with  the  most  ani- 
mated contrasts  and  the  most  abrupt  breaks  in  the 
line  of  sight  —  yet  never  savage  or  scowling.  The 
mountains  on  the  left  were  not  bare  and  scalped,  but 
shadowed  with  forests,  and  thickly  overgrown  with 
shrubbery  —  such  wooded  heights  as  the  genius  of 
Greek  poetry  would  have  peopled  with  bearded  satyrs 
and  buskined  wood-nymphs,  and  made  vocal  with  the 
reeds  of  Pan  and  the  hounds  and  horn  of  Artemis.  All 
the  space  near  the  road  was  stamped  with  the  gentle 
impress  of  human  cultivation.  Fruit-trees  and  vines 
were  thickly  planted ;  garden  vegetables  were  growing 
in  favorable  exposures ;  and  houses  were  nestling  in 
the  hollows  or  hanging  to  the  sides  of  the  cliff.  Over 
the  whole  region  there  is  a  smiling  expression  of 


EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO.  157 

wooing  and  invitation,  to  which  the  sparkling  sea  mur- 
mured a  fitting  accompaniment.  No  pitiless  ice  and 
granite  chill  or  wound  the  eye:  no  funereal  cedars  and 
pines  darken  the  mind  with  their  Arctic  shadows  ;  but 
bloom  and  verdure,  thrown  over  rounded  surfaces,  and 
rich  and  gay  forms  of  foliage  mantling  gray  cliffs  or 
waving  from  rocky  ledges,  give  to  the  face  of  Nature 
that  mixture  of  animation  and  softness,  which  is  equally 
fitted  to  soothe  a  wounded  spirit  or  restore  an  over- 
tasked mind.  If  one  could  only  forget  the  existence  of 
such  words  as  '  duty '  and  '  progress,'  and  step  aside 
from  the  rushing  stream  of  onward-moving  life,  and  be 
content  with  being,  merely,  and  not  doing  —  if  these 
lovely  forms  could  fill  all  the  claims  and  calls  of  one's 
nature,  and  all  that  we  ask  of  sympathy  and  compan- 
ionship could  be  found  in  mountain  breezes  and  break- 
ing waves  —  if  days  passed  in  communion  with  nature, 
in  which  decay  is  not  hastened  by  anxious  vigils  or 
ambitious  toils,  made  up  the  sum  of  life  —  where  could 
a  better  retreat  be  found  than  along  this  enchanting 
coast  ?  Here,  are  the  mountains,  and  there,  is  the  sea. 
Here,  is  a  climate  of  delicious  softness,  where  no  sharp 
extremes  of  heat  and  cold  put  strife  between  man  and 
nature.  Here,  is  a  smiling  and  good-natured  popula- 
tion, among  whom  no  question  of  religion,  politics, 
science,  literature,  or  humanity  is  ever  discussed,  and 
the  surface  of  the  placid  hours  is  not  ruffled  by  argu- 
ment or  contradiction.  Here,  a  man  could  hang  and 
ripen,  like  an  orange  on  the  tree,  and  drop  as  gently 
out  of  life  upon  the  bosom  of  the  earth.  There  is  a 
fine  couplet  of  Virgil,  which  is  full  of  that  tenderness 
and  sensibility  which  form  the1  highest  charm  of  his 


158  EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO. 

poetry  as  they  probably  did  of  his  character,  and  they 
came  to  my  mind  in  driving  along  this  beautiful  road  : 

'  Hie  gelidi  fontes  ;  hie  mollia  prala,  Lycori ; 
Hie  nemus ;   hie  ipso  tecum  consumerer  aevo.' 

There  is  something  in  the  musical  flow  of  these  lines 
which  seems  to  express  the  movement  of  a  quiet  life, 
from  which  day  after  day  loosens  and  falls,  like  leaf 
after  leaf  from  a  tree  in  a  calm  day  of  autumn.  But 
Virgil's  air-castle  includes  a  Lycoris ;  that  is,  sympa- 
thy, affection,  and  the  heart's  daily  food.  With  these, 
fountains,  meadows,  and  groves  may  be  dispensed 
with  ;  and  without  them,  they  are  not  much  better 
than  a  painted  panorama.  To  have  something  to  do 
and  to  do  it,  is  the  best  appointment  for  us  all. 
Nature,  stern  and  coy,  reserves  her  most  dazzling 
smiles  for  those  who  have  earned  them  by  hard  work 
and  cheerful  sacrifice.  Planted  on  these  shores  and 
lapped  in  pleasurable  sensations,  man  would  turn  into 
an  indolent  dreamer  and  a  soft  voluptuary.  He  is  nei- 
ther a  fig  nor  an  orange  ;  and  he  thrives  best  in  the 
sharp  air  of  self-denial  and  on  the  rocks  of  toil. 

We  reached  Sorrento  about  noon,  and  put  up  at  the 
Hotel  du  Tasso,  which  is  said  to  occupy  the  site  of  the 
house  in  which  the  illustrious  poet  was  born.  Where 
traditions  and  localities  are  concerned,  it  is  more  ad- 
visable to  lean  towards  the  side  of  credulity  than  of 
scepticism ;  and  I  surrendered  myself  to  the  genius  of 
the  place  without  doubt  or  inquiry.  The  name  of 
Tasso,  however,  was  not  needed  to  commend  this 
hotel,  which  was  beautifully  situated  and  admirably 
kept ;  the  rooms  furnished  and  watched  over  with  Eng- 
lish neatness. 


EXCURSION  TO  SORKENTO.  159 

The  name  of  Sorrento  is  found  in  every  collection 
of  Italian  sketches,  and  there  is  no  other  place  in 
which  those  characteristic  peculiarities  of  scenery 
which  are  called  Italian,  are  more  strikingly  dis- 
played. The  mountainous  promontory  which  forms 
the  south-eastern  boundary  of  the  Bay  of  Naples  is  a 
lateral  branch  of  the  Apennines,  and  its  smooth  and 
rounded  forms  are  of  the  type  which  characterizes  the 
limestone  formation.  On  the  southern  side  there  is 
not  even  a  terrace  of  level  land  ;  but  the  rocks  cluster 
round  the  roots  of  the  mountains,  the  villages  hang 
on  sharp  declivities,  and  the  only  communication  be- 
tween them  is  in  boats  or  by  mules.  The  moment  the 
traveller  is  put  ashore,  he  begins  to  climb  up  a  sharp 
ascent.  But  at  Sorrento,  on  the  northern  side,  this 
abrupt  line  of  the  coast  is  varied  by  a  plain  of  some 
four  miles  in  length  and  two  or  three  in  breadth, 
thrown  up  by  volcanic  agency  and  filling  a  rounded 
gulf  or  bay  left  originally  by  the  receding  hills.  This 
plain,  on  every  side  except  towards  the  sea,  is  shoul- 
dered by  .mountains ;  so  that  it  lies  like  a  green  and 
motionless  lake  on  the  lap  of  the  hills.  The  coast  line 
is  a  broken  wall  of  volcanic  tufa,  varying  in  height, 
with  projecting  buttresses  and  receding  hollows,  worn, 
channelled,  and  fluted  by  the  action  of  water,  which, 
below,  has  scooped  out  winding  galleries  and  arched 
caverns.  This  line  of  cliffs,  seen  from  below,  is  of 
striking  beauty.  The  rock,  being  of  a  soft  texture,  is 
every  where  broken,  indented,  and  honey-combed : 
shrubs  and  flowers  have  found  procreant  niches  and 
give  life  to  the  gray  walls  :  winding  paths  —  half  paths 
and  half  staircases  —  lead  down  to  the  beach,  which 


160  EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO. 

is  strewn  with  fallen  fragments  ;  and  white,  square, 
flat-roofed  houses  crown  the  top ;  often  built  so  near 
to  the  edge  that  the  wall  of  the  house  seems  a  continu- 
ation of  the  wall  of  the  cliff*.  In  many  places  the  vol- 
canic soil  has  split  into  clefts  and  openings,  running 
down  from  the  mountains  to  the  sea,  which  time  has 
enlarged  into  picturesque  glens.  A  formation  like  that 
of  the  cliff  of  Sorrento,  if  stretched  along  the  coast  of 
New  England,  exposed  to  the  action  of  our  high  tides 
and  the  shocks  of  our  north-easterly  storms,  would  ere 
this  have  been  worn  away,  and  the  superincumbent 
plain  have  disappeared;  but  here,  the  power  of  the  sea 
is  merely  enough  to  ensure  a  constant  variety  of  sur- 
face. At  the  base  of  the  cliff  many  cavernous  open- 
ings and  passages  have  been  scooped  out,  into  which 
boats  can  pass.  The  softer  portions  of  the  upper  part 
of  the  wall  are  slowly  eaten  away  by  time,  and  masses 
are  occasionally  loosened  and  drop  off.  The  tradition 
of  the  place  is,  that  a  part  of  the  house  in  which  the 
father  of  Tasso  resided  fell  into  the  sea,  soon  after  the 
poet's  birth ;  and  with  it  the  room  in  which  he  first  saw 
the  light.  It  is  also  said  that  in  calm  weather  the  ruins 
of  ancient  buildings  may  be  seen  on  the  bottom  of  the 
bay. 

The  plain  of  Sorrento  contains  about  eighteen  thou- 
sand inhabitants.  Besides  the  city  of  Sorrento,  there 
are  three  villages,  Meta,  Carotto,  and  Sant'  Aniello. 
The  volcanic  soil  of  which  it  is  composed  is  of  great 
fertility,  producing  oranges,  lemons,  grapes  and  figs  in 
abundance,  and  of  the  finest  flavor.  The  streets  and 
roads,  as  is  so  often  the  case  in  Italy,  are  built  up 
on  either  side  with  high  walls,  including  all  view  of  the 


EXCURSION  TO    SORRENTO.  161 

Hesperian  gardens,  which  they  enclose.  It  is  as  cele- 
brated for  the  mildness  and  salubrity  of  its  climate  as 
for  the  richness  of  its  soil.  Sheltered  on  the  east  by 
the  lofty  peak  of  St.  Angelo,  the  sun  does  not  shine 
upon  it  till  nearly  an  hour  after  it  has  risen ;  and  the 
heats  of  the  summer  are  further  mitigated  by  the  cool 
sea  breezes.  The  inhabitants  are  said  to  be  a  gentle 
and  courteous  people,  of  affectionate  disposition  and 
strong  family  attachments.  This  reputation  they  have 
enjoyed  for  a  long  period.  Bernardo  Tasso,  the  father 
of  Torquato,  and  himself  a  poet  of  no  mean  rank,  who 
lived  at  Sorrento  for  some  years,  called  it,  in  one  of 
his  letters,  1'Albergo  della  Cortesia,  from  the  gentle 
manners  of  its  inhabitants  ;  and  of  the  climate,  he  says, 
that  it  is  so  healthful  that  men  never  die  there.  Our 
countryman,  Cooper,  resided  here  with  his  family  for 
several  weeks,  during  his  sojourn  in  Europe,  and 
speaks  with  great  satisfaction  of  the  pleasure  he  en- 
joyed in  the  beautiful  scenery  and  in  the  opportunity 
which  the  sea  afforded  him  of  indulging  his  aquatic 
tastes.  His  descriptions,  it  may  be  here  said,  of  the 
whole  Bay  of  Naples,  are  animated  and  accurate ; 
shewing  an  eye  quick  to  detect  beauty  and  discrimi- 
nating in  the  analysis  of  its  component  parts.  Pleas- 
antly, indeed,  according  to  his  account,  must  their  days 
have  glided  by;  the  mornings  passed  in  reading  or 
writing,  and  the  afternoons,  in  pulling  about  under  the 
shadows  of  the  cliffs  and  bathing  in  their  vaulted  cav- 
erns; with  occasional  excursions  by  water  to  distant 
points  in  the  bay,  and  in  cool  weather,  by  donkey  rides 
in  the  neighboring  mountains. 

VOL.  II.  11 


162  EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO. 

We  arrived  at  Sorrento,  as  I  before  remarked,  at 
noon.     The  remainder  of  the  day  was  passed  in  ram- 
bling about  the  town,  along  the  shore,  and  climbing  to 
the  top  of  the  projecting  headland,  called  the  Cape  of 
Sorrento,  which   shuts  in   the  plain  on  the  south-west. 
Wild  flowers  grew  in  great  profusion  all  along  the 
shore,  among  which  the  color  of  yellow  predominated; 
as  if  they  had  absorbed   the    golden   sunbeams  that 
fertilize  the  soil.     The  ridge  of  the  promontory  was 
thickly  overgrown  with   myrtle,  and  with  spiry  cones 
of  heath  covered  with  delicate  white  blossoms  like  seed 
pearl.     In  one  place,  a  fairy  waterfall  was  leaping 
down  the  rocks.     A  few  fishing  vessels  were  drawn 
up  along  the  shore  :   one  bore  the  appropriate  name  of 
II  Nuovo  Amore.    Groups  of  women  and  children  gave 
life  to  the  scene ;  some  of  the  former  had  distaffs  in 
their  hands.     Blue  eyes   and   brown   hair  were    not 
Uncommon.      Beggars,  of  course,  were  not  wanting, 
though  not  in  such  force  as  in  places  nearer  Naples. 
Every  point  on  which  the  eye  fell  was  a  picture  :  the 
gray  and  crumbling  cliffs  mantling  with  vegetation,  the 
white,  cubical  houses,  the  groups  of  fishermen  and 
their  families  on  the  shore,  and  the  distant  mountains 
—  all  realized  a  poet's  or  a  painter's  dreams  of  a  vision- 
ary Italy.     In  the  town  itself,  whenever  the  eye  could 
overpeer  the  churlish  wall,  it  beheld  dark  green  domes 
of  foliage,  in  which  oranges  glowed  like  stars.     The 
vines  were  not  yet  in  leaf. 

The  evening  was  passed  upon  the  balcony  of  the 
hotel,  which  is  set  upon  the  edge  of  the  cliff  in  such 
a  way  that  a  line  dropped  from  it  would  fall  into  the 
water.  The  air  was  soft  and  mild,  without  a  touch  of 


EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO.  163 

that  rasping  harshness  which  the  wind,  when  blowing 
off  the  sea,  brings  with  it  on  the  coast  of  New  Eng- 
land, even  in  summer.  The  sobs  and  whispers  of  the 
waves  upon  the  beach  and  among  the  caverns  below 
fell  gratefully  upon  the  ear.  Here  and  there  the 
gleaming  sail  of  a  fishing  vessel  was  discerned,  and 
the  sound  of  oars  was  borne  across  the  liquid  plain. 
On  the  right  ai'ose  the  dark  bulk  and  regular  outline  of 
Vesuvius,  holding  aloft  a  fiery  torch,  the  light  of  which 
was  somewhat  dimmed  by  the  moon's  silver  mantle. 
The  mountains  which  enclose  the  plain  were  in  deep 
shadow,  but  the  rays  of  the  moon  fell  upon  the  white 
houses  and  salient  points  of  the  shore,  and  spread  over 
the  whole  bay  a  sheet  of  tremulous  crystal.  As  the 
night  deepened,  one  by  one  the  sounds  of  life  died 
away  and  we  were  left  alone  with  nature.  The  spirit 
of  the  scene  and  the  hour  fell  upon  us  all,  and  the 
only  words  spoken  were  occasional  exclamations  of 
delight  at  what  was  before  and  around  us.  The  magic 
panorama,  seen  under  so  spiritual  a  light,  seemed 
hardly  a  piece  of  this  world ;  and  when  I  reluctantly 
left  it  and  went  to  rest,  it  was  only  exchanging  one 
dreamland  for  another. 

The  next  morning,  the  weather  wore  an  uncertain 
aspect,  but  we  chartered  a  large  boat,  with  three  sails 
and  five  men,  and  put  off*  for  Capri ;  but  on  getting  out 
a  mile  or  two,  it  began  to  blow  so  heavily  as  to  make  it 
impossible  to  enter  the  blue  grotto,  which  was  the  main 
object  of  our  expedition.  We  therefore  returned  to 
Sorrento  and  retraced  our  steps  to  Castellamare.  Ar- 
riving too  late  for  the  train  to  Naples,  three  of  us  took 
a  carriage  and  drove  to  Salerno.  We  passed  through 


164  EXCURSION  TO  SORRENTO. 

Nocera  and  La  Cava,  and  reached  Salerno  early  in 
the  afternoon.  The  region  between  Nocera  and  Sa- 
lerno is  striking  and  picturesque,  being  a  succession  of 
narrow  valleys  and  deep  dells  between  thickly  wooded 
mountains,  the  peaks  of  which  shoot  up  into  craggy 
and  broken  points,  while  the  sides  and  bases  are  cov- 
ered with  vineyards,  houses,  and  gardens.  The  streets 
of  the  towns  are  narrow  and  dark,  and  the  houses 
built  with  projecting  balconies.  The  inhabitants  were 
swarming  the  streets  ;  a  dirty  and  slatternly  race,  with 
a  sort  of  repulsive  animal  look  about  their  coarse, 
ragged  black  hair  and  swarthy  complexions.  The 
beggars  were  numerous  and  importunate.  At  Salerno 
—  a  beautifully  situated  town,  built  along  the  spurs 
and  terraces  of  a  splendid  amphitheatre  of  hills,  with 
a  winding  shore  and  a  lovely  bay — we  spent  the 
hours  of  daylight  in  rambling  along  the  beach  ;  watch- 
ing the  evening  clouds ;  and  endeavoring  to  draw  from 
them  the  assurance  of  a  fair  day  for  the  morrow,  on 
which  contingency  our  excursion  to  Peestum  depended. 
But  the  morning  rose  in  rain  and  wind,  with  every 
appearance  of  a  settled  storm,  and  so  we  set  our  faces 
towards  Naples  again.  And  thus  it  happened,  that  in 
my  sparkling  round  of  Neapolitan  pictures  and  memo- 
ries, there  are  two  gemless  sockets,  where  the  blue 
grotto  and  Psestum  should  be,  but  are  not. 

o  ' 

VILLA  REALE GIIOTTO  OF   POSILTPPO VIRGIL'S 

TOMB. 

In  Naples  there  are  as  strong  contrasts  of  light  and 
shade  as  in  a  picture  of  Rembrandt's.     The  streets  in 


VILLA  REALE  —  GROTTO    OF    POSILIPPO.  165 

the  central  portions  are  narrow  and  dark,  but  in  leaving 
them  and  coming  out  upon  the  glittering  sea,  we  pass 
from  midnight  to  morning.  The  Villa  Reale  —  a  pub- 
lic promenade  in  the  street  called  the  Chiaja  —  has  the 
brightest  and  gayest  aspect  in  Europe.  It  is  nearly  a 
mile  long ;  shaded  with  orange-trees,  myrtles,  and 
acacias  ;  sparkling  with  fountains,  and  adorned  with 
marble  statues  and  vases  gleaming  through  the  foliage. 
On  one  side,  is  a  row  of  tall,  shewy  houses ;  on  the 
other,  the  broad  mirror  of  the  bay,  from  which  the 
light  is  thrown  and  multiplied  in  dazzling  gleams. 
Though  a  public  walk,  it  is  not  open  to  the  universal 
public.  Soldiers  are  stationed  at  the  gates,  who  exer- 
cise a  rule  of  exclusion  wide  enough  to  keep  all  beg- 
gars outside  ;  an  exemption  which  forms  not  the  least 
of  its  attractions.  Here  is  every  thing  that  can  restore 
the  weary  or  amuse  the  idle  —  a  prospect  of  indescrib- 
able beauty  ;  the  breezes  and  voices  of  the  sea  ;  the 
rich  foliage  of  the  south ;  gay  faces  of  men  and 
women,  and  children  sporting  round  the  fountains. 

At  the  extremity  of  the  Chiaja  is  the  grotto  of  Posi- 
lippo  —  a  tunnel  of  rather  more  than  half  a  mile  in 
length- — through  which  flows  the  great  stream  of  travel 
between  Naples  and  the  western  part  of  the  bay.  The 
rock  through  which  it  is  cut  is  of  soft  tufa,  and  the 
result  is  no  great  triumph  of  patience  or  skill.  It  is 
characteristic  of  the  way  in  which  things  are  done  in 
this  part  of  the  world,  that  there  are  no  sidewalks  nor 
any  protection  whatever  for  foot-passengers.  The  in- 
terior is  but  dimly  lighted,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
many  accidents  must  occur  there.  A  throng  of  vehi- 
cles, donkeys,  and  foot-passengers  was  constantly 


166  VIRGIL'S  TOMB. 

passing  through  it,  and  what  with  the  rapid  driving  of 
these  fervid  sons  of  the  South,  the  confusing  sound  of 
wheels  and  of  voices  increased  and  multiplied  by  rever- 
beration from  the  vaulted  roof,  and  the  faint  light  which 
puzzled  the  eye  and  quickened  the  apprehension,  I 
never  could  shake  off  an  uneasy  sense  of  danger  while 
walking  in  it.  The  little  round  of  light  at  the  opposite 
end  —  the  object-glass  of  this  stone  telescope — expand- 
ing on  approach,  is  a  curious  thing  to  see  for  the  first 
time.  At  certain  seasons,  the  setting  sun  is  said  to 
shoot  a  level  ray  quite  through  the  grotto. 

Above  the  grotto  are  the  remains  of  a  columbarium, 
which  time  out  of  mind  has  enjoyed  the  honor  of  being 
called  the  tomb  of  Virgil.  Nor  is  it  by  any  means  im- 
possible that  it  is  so,  though  it  must  be  admitted  that 
the  weight  of  evidence  is  against  the  claim.  But  there 
is  quite  enough  of  interest  clinging  round  it,  from  the 
fact  that  a  long  line  of  poets  and  scholars,  beginning 
with  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio,  have  visited  the  spot, 
more  in  the  spirit  of  faith  than  of  scepticism.  There  is 
nothing  at  all  remarkable  in  the  structure  itself,  which 
is  of  brick,  shattered  by  time  and  overgrown  with 
myrtle,  wild  vines,  and  grass.  Laurels  should  be  there, 
but  are  not.  They  have  frequently  been  planted, 
but  the  rapacity  of  visitors  has  cut  them  to  pieces  and 
brought  them  to  an  untimely  end.  Whether  Virgil 
were  really  buried  here  or  not,  it  is  certainly  a  spot 
which  a  poet  might  well  choose  for  his  last  repose. 
The  rich  life  of  the  soil,  breaking  forth  in  a  luxuriant 
net-work  of  vegetation,  suggests  the  creative  energy  of 
genius,  and  breathes  around  an  air  of  hope  and  promise. 
The  view  —  but  in  mercy  to  my  readers  I  spare  them 


EXCURSION    TO    BALE.  167 

any  further  attempts  to  describe  the  indescribable.  In 
this  magic  region,  there  is  not  a  hill  or  elevated  point 
which  does  not  command  a  prospect  that  cannot  be 
seen  without  rapturous  interjections,  or  described  with- 
out a  blaze  of  superlatives. 


EXCURSION    TO    BALE. 

On  the  twenty-third  day  of  March,  I  drove  with  two 
of  my  friends  to  Baise  ;  a  very  pleasant  excursion, 
though  so  many  objects  were  crowded  into  a  short 
space  of  time,  that  they  left  but  indistinct  images  on 
the  mind.  The  whole  region  is  seamed  and  scarred 
with  the  marks  of  volcanic  violence  ;  for  it  has  been  a 
battle-field  on  which  fire  and  water  have  struggled  for 
victory.  The  coast  line  is  constantly  changing.  The 
solid  has  displaced  the  liquid,  and  the  liquid  the  solid. 
Here  are  repeated,  on  a  small  scale,  the  convulsions 
and  revolutions,  the  effects  of  which,  at  earlier  and 
unrecorded  periods,  geologists  trace  in  ampler  lines, 
upon  broader  pages. 

Of  Pozzuoli,  once  a  flourishing  seaport  and  a  fash- 
ionable watering-place,  nothing  is  left  but  its  beautiful 
situation.  We  saw  the  ruins  of  the  amphitheatre,  and 
those  three  celebrated  columns  of  the  temple  of  Sera- 
pis,  from  which  science  has  drawn  such  striking  con- 
clusions as  to  conflicts  between  land  and  sea,  nowhere 
else  recorded.  We  took  donkeys  and  a  guide  to  the 
crater  of  Solfatara,  a  nearly  extinguished  volcano  ;  the 
only  surviving  remnant  of  the  vehement  elemental 
forces  once  in  such  powerful  action  all  along  this 
coast ;  like  the  last  few  tongues  of  flame  licking  up  the 


168  EXCURSION   TO    BAIJE. 

broken  fragments  of  a  great  conflagration.  It  is  not 
much  more  than  a  mile  distant  from  the  town.  It  pre- 
sents a  curious  and  unique  aspect :  being  a  sort  of  table- 
land of  moderate  extent  and  elevation,  around  which  a 
natural  bank  is  formed.  The  soil  resembles  that  found 
in  the  interval  between  the  high-water  mark  and  the 
upland,  on  a  New  England  beach  —  being  of  a  white 
color  and  loose  in  texture — and  is  thinly  overgrown 
with  a  sickly  vegetation  of  yellow-green.  Copious 
vapors  every  where  issue  from  the  spongy  ground,  and 
the  whole  expanse  steams  and  smokes  like  the  waters 
of  the  sea,  when  a  morning  of  sharp  and  sudden  frost 
condenses  the  warmer  breath  of  the  waves.  A  sense 
of  insecurity  mingles  with  the  wonder  which  this  ap- 
pearance awakens,  not  diminished  by  the  hollow  sound 
returned  when  the  foot  stamps  heavily  upon  the  ground ; 
suggesting  a  vision  of  a  great  natural  laboratory  vaulted 
over  by  a  thin  crust  of  earth,  which  may  one  day  break 
through  and  throw  some  lover  of  useful  knowledge 
upon  the  burning  heart  of  the  mystery  he  is  seeking  to 
investigate. 

Continuing  our  drive  to  Baise  we  passed  by  the 
Monte  Nuovo,  which  was  thrown  up  by  volcanic 
agency,  no  more  than  three  hundred  years  ago,  in  the 
space  of  forty-eight  hours,  blotting  out  a  large  part  of 
the  Lucrine  lake.  It  has  a  decidedly  parvenu  look, 
and  must  live  many  hundred  years  longer,  before  it 
can  expect  to  hold  up  its  head  in  respectable  mountain 
society.  Although  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
high,  and  now  partly  clothed  with  a  ragged  suit  of  veg- 
etation, it  has  little  more  of  character  or  expression 
than  a  huge  heap  of  ashes.  The  whole  region  over 


EXCURSION   TO    BALK.  169 

which  we  passed  was  sprinkled  with  ruins,  and  the 
very  dust  raised  by  our  wheels  was  once  the  costly 
marble  of  imperial  structures.  This  shore,  as  every 
scholar  knows,  was  the  focal  point  of  Roman  luxury 
and  splendor,  glittering  with  palaces,  temples,  and 
villas ;  so  charming  from  its  climate  and  position,  that 
men  who  might  elsewhere  have  enclosed  square  miles 
for  their  pleasure-grounds,  were  here  content  with  an 
acre.  We  were  taken  through  the  usual  curriculum  of 
sight-seeing,  but  the  only  thing  that  made  much  im- 
pression upon  me  was  the  Piscina  Mirabile,  so  called  ; 
an  underground  structure  or  cistern,  about  two  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  long  and  one  hundred  broad,  with  a 
vaulted  roof,  divided  into  four  aisles  or  compartments, 
resting  upon  forty-eight  pilasters.  If  this  was,  as  it  is 
generally  admitted,  a  reservoir  for  water,  for  the  use 
of  the  Roman  fleet,  it  leaves  an  impression  of  the  extent 
of  their  marine,  hardly  warranted  by  other  records, 
written  or  monumental.  Perhaps  here,  as  in  other 
cases,  the  Roman  taste  for  architectural  splendor  led 
them  to  go  far  beyond  the  demands  of  mere  utility. 
The  day  was  one  of  rare  beauty,  and  the  rich  light  that 
hung  upon  the  islands  and  the  waters  of  the  bay,  and 
the  striking  features  of  the  coast,  notched,  scooped,  and 
abraded  by  the  cutting  and  rending  action  of  fire,  pre- 
sented attractions  far  more  powerful  than  any  work 
of  man's  hands. 

At  the  point  at  the  extremity  of  our  drive  we  found 
a  small  house  of  entertainment,  prettily  situated,  with 
a  porch  overgrown  with  vines,  and  commanding  a 
beautiful  view  of  the  bay  and  its  islands.  Here  we 
had  a  Roman  lunch  of  oysters,  with  a  wine  which  was 


170  CAMPO    SANTO. 

called  Falernian,  and  was  not  bad.  We  could  look 
out  upon  the  Mare  Morto  —  a  small  sheet  of  water 
which  had  nothing  deathlike  in  its  aspect  —  and  be- 
yond it,  upon  the  Elysian  fields,  a  pleasing,  though 
rather  tame  landscape. 

Returning  to  Naples  we  took  the  fine  road,  of  mod- 
ern construction,  which  passes  over  the  hill  of  Posilip- 
po,  instead  of  threading  the  grotto.  We  entered  the  city 
in  the  glow  of  a  magnificent  sunset,  which  burned 
along  the  western  sky  in  broad  masses  of  crimson  and 
gold,  threw  delicate  veils  of  rose  and  purple  over  the 
opposite  headlands,  and  turned  the  smooth  waters  of 
the  bay  into  '  a  sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire.' 


CAMPO  SANTO SAN  CARLO  THEATRE. 

My  brief  residence  in  Naples  leaves  me  little  else  to 
chronicle.  The  intervals  and  fragments  of  time  not 
employed  in  visits  to  the  museum  or  in  excursions 
to  the  neighborhood  were  mostly  spent  in  walks  about 
the  city,  where  not  only  the  landscape  presented  its 
ever-varying  and  beautiful  page,  but  the  open-air 
life  of  the  people  was  a  constant  source  of  amuse- 
ment and  interest.  I  went  to  the  Campo  Santo,  of 
which  I  had  so  often  read,  and  saw  a  paved  rectangu- 
lar enclosure,  marked  with  the  massive  stone  covers 
of  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  pits  or  vaults,  into  one 
of  which  the  ghastly  death-harvest  of  each  day  is 
thrown,  with  the  careless  indecency  with  which  a  lump 
of  coal  is  pitched  into  a  furnace  ;  as  if  the  sacred  form 
of  man  and  woman,  never  so  sacred  as  when  newly 
stamped  with  the  dignity  of  death,  should  be  shot  into 


SAN   CARLO   THEATRE.  171 

a  hole  like  rubbish  from  a  cart.  Within  a  few  years, 
however,  a  new  cemetery  has  been  built,  where  the 
wealthier  classes  deposit  their  dead  in  that  decent  and 
humane  way  practised  in  all  other  parts  of  Christen- 
dom. This  cemetery  occupies  a  fine  piece  of  rising 
ground  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and  is  already  very 
thickly  covered  with  monuments ;  all,  of  white  marble, 
and  some  very  showy  and  costly ;  but  very  few  in 
good  taste  ;  that  being  a  plant  to  which  the  soil  of 
Naples  does  not  seem  to  be  congenial. 

I  attended  one  performance  at  the  theatre  of  San 
Carlo,  a  structure  of  immense  size,  containing  six  rows 
of  private  boxes,  all  glittering  in  blue  and  gold.  The 
boxes  are  of  large  size,  quite  like  small  drawing- 
rooms  ;  and  indeed  they  are  much  used  by  the  occu- 
pants for  the  reception  of  their  friends.  The  royal 
box,  blazing  in  crimson  and  gold,  faces  the  stage,  and 
is  two  rows  in  height ;  almost  large  enough  to  have  a 
vaudeville  of  its  own  going  on  contemporaneously  with 
the  performance  on  the  stage.  The  seats  in  the  pit  are 
numbered,  and  the  most  comfortable  I  have  ever  seen. 
The  effect  of  an  enclosed  space,  of  such  vast  extent,  is 
very  striking ;  and  such  colossal  structures  present 
great  advantages  for  all  spectacles  addressed  to  the 
eye  ;  but  for  music,  vocal  music  at  least,  a  smaller 
building  is  surely  better  adapted.  The  opera  I  saw 
was  Nabuco,  by  Verdi,  a  composer  whose  resonant 
and  superficial  strains  seemed  in  unison  with  the  huge 
vault  into  which  they  flowed.  There  was  an  ex- 
cellent orchestra,  with  a  very  fair  company;  and  the 
performer  who  sustained  the  principal  part  was  a  good 
actor  and  a  pleasing  singer.  In  the  chorus  of  the 


172  SAN    CARLO    THEATRE. 

exiled  Hebrews,  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates,  there 
was  a  strain  of  tenderness  and  melancholy  beyond  the 
composer's  usual  mood.  It  was  the  first  night  of  the 
performance  of  the  opera,  and  the  scenery  and  decora- 
tions were  very  fine.  The  audience  was  very  respon- 
sive and  apprehensive,  but  better-natured  than  I  had 
imagined.  Among  other  signs  of  this  amiable  quality, 
they  called  out  the  artist  who  had  painted  the  scenes, 
and  gave  him  a  very  hearty  round  of  applause.  I  re- 
gretted that  my  limited  stay  in  Naples  did  not  permit 
me  to  visit  the  little  theatre  of  San  Carlino,  so  famous 
for  its  broad  farce  ;  where  the  national  character,  Poli- 
cinella,  still  displays  on  the  spot  of  his  origin,  those 
cheating,  lying,  bragging,  and  profligate  propensities 
which,  seasoned  as  they  are  with  infinite  drollery, 
have  carried  him  all  over  Europe,  and  made  his 
squeak  and  big  nose  every  where  so  popular. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


Characteristics  of  Naples.    Rome  and  Naples  compared  —  Return  to  Borne  • 
Illumination  of  St.  Peter's. 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  NAPLES.       ROME   AND  NAPLES 
COMPARED. 

NAPLES  is  a  city  which  most  travellers  approach 
with  a  stock  of  ready-made  impressions,  and  they  look 
about  to  have  these  impressions  confirmed  ;  and  every- 
thing which  has  that  tendency  is  noted  and  recorded, 
while  the  rest  is  unheeded  and  forgotten.  Many  years 
ago,  there  were  a  considerable  number  of  Lazzaroni 
so  called,  in  Naples,  who  had  no  fixed  place  of  abode ; 
slept  in  any  sheltered  spot  they  could  find ;  were  rich 
if  they  could  call  a  shirt,  a  pair  of  trowsers,  and  a  red 
cap  their  own ;  and  when  they  had  earned  enough  by 
any  chance  job  to  support  them  through  the  day,  left 
off  work  and  took  to  lounging  and  basking  in  the  sun. 
The  traveller  who  comes  here  from  the  north,  when 
he  sees  a  man  in  a  ragged  garb,  on  a  sunny  day, 
sleeping  under  the  shelter  of  a  wall,  sets  it  down  in  his 
note-book  as  an  unexampled  phenomenon,  exults  in 
having  caught  a  Lazzarone,  and  very  likely  flowers 
out  into  a  dissertation  upon  the  subject.  But  men,  in 


174  CHARACTERISTICS    OF    NAPLES. 

warm  weather,  may  be  seen  sleeping  in  the  open  air 
in  Rome  and  Florence,  not  to  say  Paris  and  Vienna, 
and  it  is  thought  no  strange  thing.  The  truth  is,  that 
the  whole  race  of  Lazzaroni,  as  a  class  characteristic 
of  and  peculiar  to  Naples,  has  nearly  disappeared. 
The  lapse  of  time,  and  the  greatly  extended  net-work 
of  communication  between  Naples  and  the  rest  of  Eu- 
rope, by  means  of  the  increased  facilities  of  travel,  have 
completed  a  change  which  began  under  the  trenchant 
administration  of  the  French,  and  much  obliterated  the 
distinctions  once  existing  between  the  lower  orders  in 
Naples  and  those  in  the  other  large  capitals  of  Europe. 
In  other  respects,  too,  the  peculiarities  of  Naples  are 
growing  less  and  less  marked,  and  those  racy  traits  of 
life  and  character  which  so  much  impressed  the  travel- 
lers of  a  earlier  period,  are  fast  disappearing  from 
observation.  Still,  there  is  and  ever  must  be  an  indi- 
vidual and  strongly-marked  expression  in  the  character 
of  Neapolitan  life.  Much  of  it  is  determined  by  the 
position  of  the  city  upon  the  earth's  surface.  Naples 
is  the  fifth  in  size  of  the  European  capitals  —  London, 
Paris,  Berlin,  and  St.  Petersburg,  only,  ranking  above 
it ;  *  and  Paris,  the  most  southerly  of  these  three,  is  four 
hundred  miles  north  of  Naples.  Naples  is  a  southern 
city  of  the  first  class.  The  cold  is  never  formidable  ; 
and  for  seven  or  eight  months  in  the  year  it  is  possi- 
ble for  a  healthy  man  to  sleep  in  the  open  air  without 
discomfort.  This  leads  to  a  great  deal  of  open-air 
life.  Many  of  the  trades  and  occupations,  which  in 

*  Constantinople,  from  its  peculiar  character  and  position, 
is  not  included  in  this  list. 


CHARACTERISTICS    OF   NAPLES.  175 

other  cities  are  carried  on  and  performed  within  doors, 
are  here  transferred  to  the  street.  Here  the  cobbler 
brings  his  bench  and  the  tailor  makes  up  his  garments. 
Here  macaroni  is  cooked  and  eaten ;  here  the  barber 
lathers  and  shaves  his  customers ;  and  the  letter-writer 
drives  his  fluent  quill.  In  the  long,  warm  days  of  sum- 
mer, groups  of  eager  idlers  listen  with  flashing  eyes  to 
tales  of  their  favorite  hero,  Rinaldo,  read  or  recited 
from  memory  by  a  professional  story-teller ;  a  spec- 
tacle which  carries  back  the  thoughts  to  the  shores  of 
the  ./Egean  and  the  majestic  song  which  flowed  from 
the  lips  of  Homer.  Along  the  quays  of  Naples,  Punch 
is  in  his  glory,  revelling  and  rioting  in  a  breadth  of 
humor  which  wanes  and  pales  in  colder  climes.  In 
walking  through  the  streets,  the  same  gregarious  tastes 
and  the  same  indifference  to  domestic  seclusion  may 
be  observed  in  the  open  doors  and  windows  of  the 
houses  of  the  poorer  classes,  which  allow  all  the  ways 
and  works  of  the  family  to  be  seen.  Travellers,  who 
have  resided  in  Naples  long  enough  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  its  society,  say  that  this  same  general 
trait  manifests  itself  also  among  the  more  favored 
classes,  in  a  want  of  personal  delicacy,  in  careless 
habits  as  to  dress,  and  in  a  style  of  conversation  in 
which  embarrassing  topics  are  discussed  with  alarming 
unreserve. 

Whenever  the  sun  shone  I  could  always  find  amuse- 
ment enough  in  stepping  out  upon  the  little  balcony  in 
front  of  my  room.  I  lodged  in  the  fourth  story  of  the 
house  No.  28  Santa  Lucia.  The  house  was  lofty  and 
spacious,  and  with  apartments  and  suites  of  apartments 
for  hire.  A  porter  was  stationed  at  the  entrance,  on 


176  CHARACTERISTICS    OF    NAPLES. 

the  ground-floor,  whose  life  seemed  to  be  passed  in 
touching  his  hat  and  looking  down  upon  the  quay  which 
extended  below.  All  along  the  sea  was  a  row  of  rude 
counters  or  tables  of  wood,  protected  from  the  sun  by 
an  awning  stretched  from  the  rear  and  projecting  for- 
ward at  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees.  Upon 
these  tables  various  products  of  the  sea,  fish,  oysters, 
and  muscles,  were  offered  for  sale.  Women  were  scat- 
tered about,  selling  fruit,  roasted  chestnuts,  and  other 
edibles.  Idlers  were  lounging  around  or  lying  listlessly 
in  the  sunshine,  and  children  in  great  numbers  were 
running  to  and  fro.  Boats  were  putting  off"  and  arriv- 
ing, rowed  by  men  in  red  caps  and  no  redundancy  of 
drapery.  There  was  no  great  amount  of  business 
done  :  the  buyers  were  few  and  the  sellers  many. 
But  there  was  a  great  deal  of  talking,  much  gesticula- 
tion, animated  play  of  countenance,  and  rapid  move- 
ment. It  was  a  lifelike  and  parti-colored  tableau 
vivant,  softened  by  distance.  Nothing  was  fixed,  but 
every  thing  was  subject  to  rapid  change  and  continuous 
movement.  Here  too  were  assembled  a  large  number 
of  the  one-horse  vehicles  which  are  peculiar  to  Naples, 
resembling  somewhat  an  antediluvian  chaise.  The 
quantity  of  persons  that  may  be  packed  into  and 
around  one  of  these  calessos,  or  cittadines,  quite  ex- 
ceeds all  previous  notions  of  the  power  of  stowing 
and  compressing.  Besides  three  or  four  who  will 
be  squeezed  into  a  seat  meant  for  two,  there  will  be 
supernumeraries  hanging  on  behind  or  clinging  to  the 
shafts  in  front,  so  that  every  spot  where  a  man  or  a  boy 
can  sit  or  stand  is  occupied.  The  Neapolitan  horses 
are  small  but  full  of  spirit,  and  though  they  dash  about 


ROME    AND    NAPLES    COMPARED.  177 

the  crowded  streets  with  a  careless  speed  that  keeps  a 
stranger  in  a  constant  state  of  apprehension,  yet  such 
is  the  skill  of  their  drivers  that  accidents  rarely  occur. 

Rome  and  Naples,  though  only  about  a  hundred  and 
thirty  miles  apart,  and  inhabited  by  a  population  of  the 
same  faith,  the  same  language,  and  of  kindred  blood, 
are  singularly  unlike.  Rome  is  situated  in  the  midst 
of  a  sombre  plain,  is  without  foreign  commerce,  is  the 
capital  of  an  ecclesiastical  state,  and  overshadowed  by 
the  solemn  memories  of  a  great  past.  From  these  and 
other  external  influences,  and  perhaps  from  some  of 
those  primitive  and  inexplicable  peculiarities  in  the 
organization  of  the  inhabitants  themselves,  there  is  a 
general  air  of  gravity  and  silence  in  the  streets,  and  in 
the  countenances  of  those  who  frequent  them.  The 
light  from  the  sky  seems  absorbed  by  the  gloomy  walls 
of  the  narrow  passages  upon  which  it  falls  ;  and  at 
night  the  dim  lamps  are  mere  guiding-points  to  the  eye, 
with  but  faint  illuminating  power.  The '  absence  of 
loud  noises  of  any  kind  is  remarkable.  There  are  no 
heavily-laden  carts  or  drays  thundering  over  the  pave- 
ments, no  huge  omnibuses  lumbering  along.  The  carts 
which  come  in  from  the  country  are  either  lightly  con- 
structed or  move  at  a  slow  pace.  The  sound  of  the 
human  voice  does  not  gather  and  swell  in  large  streams. 
Ecclesiastics  glide  along  without  speaking,  foreigners 
and  artists  do  their  talking  in  the  cafes,  the  peasants 
from  the  country  do  not  seem  to  be  a  very  chatty  race, 
and  even  the  beggars  are  not  clamorous  in  their 
approaches. 

Naples,  on  the  contrary,  situated  in  a  region  of  va- 
ried and  smiling  beauty,  is  full  of  life,  movement,  and 

VOL.  H.  12 


178  ROME    AND    NAPLES    COMPARED. 

gaiety.  To  the  swarm  of  unthinking  ephemera  that 
hum  and  dart  in  the  sunshine,  the  present  is  every 
thing  and  the  past  is  nothing  ;  nor  indeed  is  there  any 
thing  in  the  past  history  of  Naples,  as  compared  with 
its  present  state,  to  throw  a  shadow  on  the  brow  of  the 
most  sensitive  patriot.  There  is  no  ghost  of  departed 
power  and  glory  to  rise  up  and  frown  upon  the  giddy 
gaiety  of  a  thoughtless  race.  In  Naples,  the  outward 
aspect  of  the  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  have  passed  into  the 
spirit  of  man  and  kindled  it  to  a  genial  emulation  with 
nature.  The  better  classes  are  fond  of  shewy  colors  in 
their  dress.  Soldiers  in  gay  uniforms  take  the  place  of 
the  ecclesiastics  in  Rome.  That  taste  for  rich  and 
gorgeous  splendor  which  we  notice  as  characteristic  of 
the  African  race,  sheds  its  influence  over  the  city  upon 
which  the  wind  from  Africa  so  often  blows.  In  Naples, 
too,  the  silence  of  Rome  is  displaced  by  a  roar  of 
voices.  Eveiy  body  talks  in  a  loud  tone,  and  enforces 
his  words  with  the  most  animated  gestures.  This  uni- 
versal and  fundamental  sound  is  varied  by  the  rattling 
of  the  rapid  carriages  and  the  shouts  of  the  open-air 
dealers  in  eatables  and  other  articles,  stationary  or  itin- 
erant, till  the  whole  air  overflows  with  the  uproar. 

In  Rome,  the  influence  of  external  nature  being  less 
powerful  and  attractive,  men  have  turned  their  thoughts 
inward  and  have  created  or  collected  forms  of  beauty 
in  architecture,  sculpture,  and  painting.  In  Naples, 
the  world  in  the  open  air  has  taken  such  hold  upon  the 
senses,  and  woven  such  a  net  of  fascination  around  the 
facile  nature  of  the  people,  that  it  has  prevented  that 
discipline  and  devotion  of  mind  which  make  the  artist. 
Art  is  a  reproduction  and  not  an  imitation  of  Nature 


ROME    AND    NAPLES    COMPARED.  179 

The  forms  of  the  world  must  be  turned  into  shape  in 
the  artist's  mind,  before  they  can  appear  as  creations. 
Naples  and  its  neighborhood  are  so  lovely  that  there  is 
no  room  for  the  ideal.  There  is  so  much  to  be  enjoyed 
that  there  is  no  time  for  study.  It  is  a  curious  fact, 
that  Naples  has  produced  but  one  great  landscape- 
painter,  Salvator  Rosa,  and  that  his  inspiration  was 
drawn,  not  from  the  characteristic  scenery  of  Naples, 
but  from  the  wooded  mountains  of  La  Cava  and  No- 
cera.  No  Neapolitan  painter  has  ever  warmed  his 
canvas  with  the  pearly  lights  of  Cuyp,  or  spread  over 
it  the  aerial  gold  of  Claude  Lorraine.  In  this,  as  in  so 
many  other  things,  successful  work  is  the  result  of  a 
due  proportion  between  the  task  and  the  instrument. 
Southey,  whose  literary  industry  was  so  remarkable 
within  the  range  of  his  own  library,  said,  that  he  should 
never  have  accomplished  any  thing,  if  his  energies  had 
been  buried  under  the  vast  stores  of  the  British  Museum. 
The  Dutch  painter,  who,  when  he  looked  out  of  the 
window,  saw  a  meadow,  a  windmill,  a  willow-tree 
hanging  over  a  brook,  or  a  rainy  sunset  behind  a  row 
of  trees,  felt  himself  competent  to  grapple  with  such 
themes,  and  set  himself  to  work  accordingly  ;  but  what 
artist  would  not  fold  his  hands  in  despair  before  the 
glories  of  a  sunset  in  the  bay  of  Naples  ? 

In  personal  appearance,  so  far  as  my  own  observa- 
tion went,  the  advantage  is  decidedly  with  the  Romans. 
There  are  more  fine  faces  in  the  latter  city,  and  gen- 
erally a  higher  expression  and  loftier  carriage.  I 
noticed  a  great  many  countenances  in  Naples,  espe- 
cially among  women,  which  were  repulsive  from  their 
strong  stamp  of  animal  coarseness.  Sensual  mouths, 


180  ROME    AND    NAPLES    COMPARED. 

large  and  impudent  noses,  and  rough,  vinous  complex- 
ions were  common  ;  and  the  effect  of  these  personal 
disadvantages  was  generally  enhanced  by  a  filthy  and 
slatternly  attire.  In  Rome,  there  is  much  of  quiet  dig- 
nity observable  in  the  manner  of  the  common  people 
met  with  in  the  streets.  In  Naples,  the  general  char- 
acteristic is  excessive  mobility  both  of  body  and  face. 
The  play  of  countenance  is  rapid  and  incessant.  Two 
ragged  idlers  talk  on  the  Chiaja  with  gestures  so  ani- 
mated and  glowing  that  an  orator  might  study  them 
with  profit.  We  feel  as  we  walk  along  the  streets  that 
multitudes  of  first-rate  comic  actors  are  here  running  to 
waste.  In  Rome,  in  spite  of  all  the  changes  of  time 
and  the  blows  of  fate,  there  is  still  an  indefinable  some- 
thing which  recalls  the  old  Roman  aspect  and  spirit,  but 
in  Naples,  every  thing  indicates  a  corrupted  Greek 
mind  and  character  ;  vivacity  that  has  passed  into  buf- 
foonery ;  a  love  of  beauty  that  has  degenerated  into 
sensuality  and  voluptuousness ;  quickness  that  has  be- 
come restlessness,  and  susceptibility  that  has  declined 
into  impatience.  Naples  is  to  Greece  what  the  farces 
of  the  San  Carlino  are  to  the  comedies  of  Aristophanes. 
The  virtues  of  the  lower  orders  of  the  Neapolitans 
are  said  to  be  good-humor  and  temperance,  and  under 
certain  qualifications,  honesty.  That  is  to  say,  a 
Neapolitan  lazzarone  will  scrupulously  account  for  the 
money  which  is  entrusted  to  him,  from  a  sense  of  honor, 
but  will  not  hesitate  to  pick  a  pocket  when  under 
no  such  restraint.  Pocket-picking  is  a  very  common 
accomplishment  here,  and  handkerchiefs,  especially, 
are  apt  to  take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away. 
Young  lads  shew  a  great  deal  of  dexterity  in  this  form 


CHARACTERISTICS    OF    NAPLES.  181 

of  abstraction,  though  they  act,  probably,  quite  as 
much  from  the  love  of  mischief  as  from  confirmed 
dishonesty.* 

It  is  the  misfortune  of  Naples,  that  while  the  upper 
classes  are  corrupted  with  the  worst  vices  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  the  lower  orders  lead  a  life  of  somewhat 
savage  unrestraint  and  lawless  abandonment  to  their 
instincts,  the  middle  and  industrious  class  —  which 
generally  acts  as  a  moral  check  and  counterpoise  to 
the  two  extremes  —  is  here  smaller  and  less  influential 
than  in  the  other  cities  of  the  first  class  in  Europe.  Of 
course,  I  have  no  personal  knowledge  of  the  upper 
classes  in  Neapolitan  society,  but  that  they  are,  with 
many  marked  exceptions,  worthless  and  corrupt,  is  the 
general  verdict  passed  upon  them  by  competent  ob- 
servers. The  soft  climate  of  Naples  has  melted  away 
the  two  great  guardian  virtues,  in  which  the  security  for 
all  the  others  resides  ;  valor  in  man,  and  chastity  in 
woman.  The  lower  orders,  as  seen  in  the  streets,  seem 
to  be  a  strange  combination  of  the  man  and  the  child  ; 
propelled  by  the  passions  of  maturity,  but  with  as  little 
of  prudent  forecast  as  the  inmates  of  a  nursery.  In 
their  verb  there  is  but  one  tense,  and  that  is  the  present. 

*  The  police  are  said  to  practise  a  singular  test  to  ascertain 
whether  a  lad  accused  of  picking  a  pocket  be  guilty  or  not. 
The  culprit  is  required  to  place  his  hand  upon  a  table  with  the 
fingers  outstretched,  and  if  the  fore-finger  and  middle-finger  be 
of  the  same  length,  the  case  goes  against  him  and  judgment  is 
passed  accordingly  ;  for,  in  the  exercise  of  this  profession, 
these  two  fingers  are  made  use  of  like  a  forceps,  and  the  young 
ragamuffins  in  the  streets  are  said  to  lengthen  the  forefinger 
by  perpetually  pulling  at  it. 


182  CHARACTERISTICS    OF    NAPLES. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  there  is  great  suffering 
among  the  poorer  classes  of  Naples,  though  life  can 
be  sustained  on  so  little.  The  burden  of  cold,  which 
is  so  great  an  element  of  wretchedness  in  northern 
capitals,  is  there  hardly  felt  at  all ;  but  many  lives 
are  unquestionably  shortened  by  hunger  in  a  land  that 
so  teems  with  plenty.  The  childlike  unconcern  for  the 
future,  of  which  I  have  before  spoken,  lies  at  the  bot- 
tom of  this.  Marriages  are  contracted  most  heedlessly 
and  improvidently,  with  no  provision  for  a  rainy  day, 
and  the  poor  children  that  are  thus  called  into  being, 
are  born  to  a  life  of  wretchedness  and  poverty  ;  from 
which,  however,  they  draw  no  warnings  of  experience, 
but  they,  in  their  turn,  having  scrambled  along  to  ma- 
turity, through  rags  and  hunger,  repeat  the  heedless 
folly  of  their  parents,  and  thus  transmit  the  inheritance 
of  misery.* 

The  Neapolitans  are  said  to  be  an  indolent  race,  but 
here,  as  in  many  other  places,  it  is  difficult  to  say  how 
much  of  this  indolence  is  to  be  ascribed  to  a  distaste 
for  labor,  and  how  much  to  want  of  motive  and  oppor- 
tunity. We  are  apt  to  make  rash  judgments  on  this 
point.  The  Irish,  for  instance,  are  often  accused  of 
indolence  in  their  own  country  ;  but  we  know  that  with 
us  they  are  a  hard-working  race.  The  reason  is  that  a 
new  set  of  impulses  is  waked  to  life  upon  our  soil,  and 
that  the  natural  instincts  of  accumulation  and  progress 
become  propelling  powers.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 


*  Vieusseux  states  that  a  man  earning  a  tari  a  day,  about  a 
shilling  of  our  money,  will  think  of  marrying  without  any 
scruple. 


CHARACTERISTICS    OF    NAPLES.  183 

idleness  in  Naples,  and  the  heat  of  the  climate  is  in 
some  degree  its  cause  and  its  excuse.  But  when  we 
see  the  careful  and  laborious  cultivation  under  which 
the  whole  neighborhood  smiles,  how  every  available 
square  foot  is  made  use  of,  and  with  what  pains  all 
fertilizing  substances  are  gathered  and  saved ;  when  we 
note  the  constant  industry  of  the  sailors  who  navigate 
the  little  crafts  that  ply  about  the  bay,  and  have  learned 
how  cheaply  their  services  may  be  secured  ;  when  we 
observe  men  panting  under  a  heavy  load  to  the  top  of 
Vesuvius,  in  the  hope  of  selling  a  few  oranges  and  bot- 
tles of  wine,  we  may  be  led  to  pause  and  ask  if  the 
indolence  of  the  Neapolitans  is  not,  in  some  degree, 
their  misfortune  as  well  as  their  fault.  Naples  suffers 
from  over-population,  and  there  is  neither  employment 
nor  food  for  all  who  seek  them.  Agriculture  is  limited 
by  the  surface  of  the  soil,  and  commerce  and  manufac- 
tures are  regulated  by  the  wants  of  the  inhabitants  and 
the  consequent  extent  of  consumption.  But  it  takes 
but  little  to  support  life  in  Naples,  and  the  consumption 
is  consequently  much  less  than  among  the  same  num- 
ber of  persons  in  northern  latitudes.  That  moral  ele- 
ment, which  submits  to  present  sacrifices  for  the  sake 
of  future  good,  without  which  neither  men  nor  commu- 
nities can  ever  be  in  a  progressive  condition,  exerts  but 
a  feeble  sway 'over  the  mind  of  the  lower  orders  of  the 
Neapolitans.  And  yet,  if  these  grown-up  children, 
these  civilized  savages,  were  suddenly  transplanted  to 
New  Orleans  or  Baltimore,  and  were  told  that  they 
might  be  sure  of  a  dollar  for  every  day's  work,  and  of 
work  for  every  day,  they  would  probably  become  the 
subjects  of  a  moral  reformation  ;  would  grow  provident 


184  RETURN    TO    ROME. 

and  thoughtful,  put  their  money  into  savings  banks, 
and  co*ne  under  the  control  of  Malthus's  preventive 
check. 

RETURN    TO    ROME. 

I  left  Naples  for  Rome  on  Tuesday,  March  24,  in 
the  steamer  Vesuvio  for  Civita  Vecchia.  Gentlemen 
in  America,  who  live  at  home  at  ease  in  a  country 
where  they  have  only  to  take  a  coach  and  drive  down 
to  the  steamer,  five  minutes  before  the  time  of  starting, 
may  like  to  know  how  they  manage  these  things  in 
Naples.  The  first  thing  to  be  thought  of  in  such  a 
case  is  the  passport,  the  '  great  medicine '  as  an  Indian 
would  call  it  of  modern  Europe.  A  pointed  saying  is 
often  quoted,  that  in  England  the  whole  machinery  of 
government,  king,  lords  and  commons,  is  put  in  motion 
in  order  to  get  twelve  men  into  a  jury-box.  In  Europe, 
it  would  seem  that  the  whole  object  of  civil  society  was 
to  get  a  passport  into  every  man's  pocket.  Having 
gone,  upon  my  arrival  at  Naples,  to  the  police-office, 
deposited  my  passport  and  obtained  permission  to  stay, 
it  was  now  necessary  to  reclaim  the  precious  docu- 
ment, get  permission  to  go,  and  then  secure  the  signa- 
tures of  three  or  four  officials ;  the  whole  involving  an 
expense  of  some  four  or  five  dollars.  Then  I  went  to 
the  office  of  the  steamer  and  took  my  passage,  exhibit- 
ing my  passport  as  a'  voucher  of  my  identity,  without 
which  no  conveyance  can  be  engaged.  The  steamer 
was  lying  in  the  stream,  and  after  having  my  luggage 
brought  down  to  the  quay  it  was  necessary  to  engage 
a  boat,  and  commence  the  negotiation  of  a  treaty  to 


RETURN    TO   ROME.  185 

that  effect  with  a  gentleman  in  a  red  shirt,  who  began 
by  asking  the  modest  price  of  two  dollars  for  putting 
me  on  board.  By  the  time  that  the  high  contracting 
parties  had  come  to  a  point  of  agreement,  the  hour  at 
which  the  steamer  was  announced  to  start  had  nearly 
arrived,  and  with  an  instinct  of  punctuality  calculated 
for  the  meridian  of  New  England,  I  began  to  be  uneasy 
lest  she  should  depart  without  me.  For  this  state  of 
mind  there  was  no  excuse  except  my  short  stay  in 
Naples.  At  last  I  was  put  on  board  the  boat,  which, 
as  I  saw  on  my  approach,  was  slowly  swallowing  an 
immense  travelling  carriage,  in  an  anaconda-like  fash- 
ion, at  once  removing  all  apprehension  of  being  late. 
We  did  not  get  under  way  until  some  two  hours  after 
the  appointed  time.  The  deck  was  a  scene  of  much 
confusion,  loud  talking,  vehement  gesticulation  and 
aimless  running  to  and  fro ;  all  in  striking  con- 
trast with  the  silent  despatch  which  guides  and  rules 
such  movements  with  us.  Amid  the  general  chaos  of 
voices,  I  at  length  distinguished  one  which  seemed  to 
be  speaking  with  consecutiveness  and  authority,  and 
perceived  that  it  belonged  to  one  of  the  officers  in  the 
boat,  who  was  calling  out  the  list  of  the  passengers' 
names,  in  order  to  learn  if  all  were  on  board  ;  a  cere- 
mony which  seemed  quite  superfluous,  for  the  foreign 
names  were  so  ludicrously  and  inconceivably  traves- 
tied, that  not  more  than  one  out  of  three  could  be 
distinguished  by  their  proprietors.  All  the  delay,  how- 
ever, was  more  than  endurable,  for  before  us  was  the 
city,  and  around  us  the  bay ;  both  seeming  to  put  on 
new  beauty  as  the  moment  for  leaving  them  drew 
near  ;  and  the  harbor  was  swarming  with  life  and  mo- 


186  RETURN    TO    ROME. 

tion.  Right  under  the  steamer's  quarter  was  a  small 
boat  in  which  were  two  men,  one  of  whom  was  of  a 
race  indigenous  to  Naples.  He  was  a  reciter  and  a 
singer,  with  a  tolerable  voice  and  a  rapidity  and  volu- 
bility of  utterance  which  exceeded  any  thing  I  ever 
heard.  He  had  a  sort  of  guitar  in  his  hand,  with  which 
he  accompanied  his  voice.  He  alternately  spouted 
and  sang,  with  an  extravagance  of  gesticulation  which 
made  me  think  that  he  would  end  by  jumping  out  of 
the  boat,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  doing  any  violence 
to  himself  in  all  this :  he  was  merely  obeying  the  im- 
pulses of  a  most  restless  and  mercurial  temperament. 

We  left  the  bay  of  Naples  bathed  in  the  golden 
vapors  of  a  rich  sunset.  The  rocky  headlands  on  the 
north  long  lingered  in  sight,  and  when  at  last  they  dis- 
appeared behind  the  veil  of  evening,  I  looked  upon 
the  gray  sea  and  sky  as  a  child  looks  upon  the  pitiless 
curtain  which  falls  at  the  end  of  his  first  play. 

I  remained  in  Rome  till  the  8th  day  of  April,  en- 
joying the  clear  blue  skies  and  soft  vernal  weather, 
and  spending  a  considerable  part  of  the  time  in 
deepening  the  impressions  made  by  the  objects  which 
I  was  so  soon  to  lose  sight  of.  I  explored  the  grounds 
of  the  Villa  Borghese,  which  every  day  put  on  a 
livelier  green,  paced  the  rustling  aisles  of  the  garden 
of  the  Villa  Medici,  saw  the  sun-sets  from  the  Pincian 
Hill,  and  heard  the  deep  voices  of  the  Pamphili-Doria 
pines  whose  dark  monkish  robes  of  foliage  disdained 
to  recognize  the  touch  of  spring.  Every  where  the 
fertile  soil  was  breaking  out  into  a  luxuriant  growth  of 
wild  flowers,  and  every  grove  and  copse  rang  with 
vernal  music.  To  one  born  and  reared  upon  the  sea- 


RETURN    TO   ROME.  187 

coast  of  New  England,  there  is  a  charm  in  a  Roman 
spring,  not  only  from  its  essential  character,  but  be- 
cause it  recalls  and  justifies  all  the  glowing  descriptions 
of  that  season  in  Latin  and  Italian  poetry  which,  when 
read  upon  our  own  soil,  seem  somewhat  overstrained. 
Our  spring  is  a  piece  of  mosaic,  with  here  a  bit  of 
winter,  and  there  a  bit  of  summer.  In  our  metereo- 
logical  alphabet,  B.  does  not  follow  A.  A  soft  vernal 
day  is  succeeded  by  piercing  winds,  and  open  windows 
and  fires  alternate  capriciously.  Our  climate  is  law- 
less and  revolutionary,  and  very  fond  of  breaking  the 
legitimate  line  of  succession.  But  in  Rome  the  spring 
is  a  well-defined  period  which  divides  winter  from 
summer,  has  a  character  of  its  own,  and  is  not  a  com- 
posite season  made  up  by  contributions  from  the  other 
two.  The  year  puts  off  the  garments  of  winter  and  puts 
on  the  robes  of  spring,  with  deliberate  change.  With 
each  day  there  comes  a  livelier  green  and  a  deeper 
blue,  and  with  gentle,  imperceptible  gradations,  the 
hours  glide  on  to  the  full  maturity  of  summer.  Rome 
shews  to  particular  advantage  at  this  season,  because 
there  are  so  many  gardens,  villas,  and  patches  of  cul- 
tivated ground  within  the  circuit  of  the  walls,  and  a 
few  moment's  walk  will,  from  any  point,  enable  a 
visitor  to  surround  himself  with  all  the  fine  influences 
of  nature.  The  Villa  Borghese,  which  lies  just  under 
the  walls,  comprises  —  in  the  variety  and  extent  of  its 
grounds  and  the  number  and  diversity  of  its  trees, 
shrubs,  and  plants  —  all  possible  forms  of  vernal  attrac- 
tion. That  air  of  gravity  and  soberness,  which  I  have 
more  than  once  alluded  to  as  characteristic  of  Rome 
in  the  winter  season,  now  gives  place  to  a  more  cheer- 


ILLUMINATION    OF    ST.    PETER'S. 

ful  aspect.  The  sunshine  is  more  penetrating,  there  is 
more  of  a  '  light,  glad  green,'  in  the  foliage,  and  the 
people  have  a  gayer  and  airier  look.  Rome  is  like  a 
widow  who  puts  off  her  weeds  and  appears  in  colors 
once  more.  It  is  difficult  at  this  season  to  look  at  any- 
thing which  is  inside  of  a  wall  or  under  a  roof.  The 
walls  themselves  are  gay  with  wild  flowers  —  mignio- 
nette  and  violets  perfume  the  air,  making  even  ruins 
smile.  The  invitations  dropped  from  the  sky,  borne 
upon  the  breeze,  and  written  along  the  earth  are 
so  pressing,  that  the  claims  of  architecture,  sculpture, 
and  painting  are  for  the  time  postponed. 

ILLUMINATION    OF    ST.    PETERJS. 

In  March,  1848,  there  was  great  consternation 
throughout  Rome  at  the  discovery  that  one  of  the 
treasures  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  the  head  of  St.  An- 
drew, had  been  stolen,  and  evidently  by  some  one 
familiar  with  the  internal  arrangements  of  the  church. 
Such  an  event,  in  an  ecclesiastical  capital  in  which 
there  was  so  little  of  business  or  politics  to  talk  about, 
created  as  much  sensation  as  the  overthrow  of  the 
Bunker  Hill  Monument  by  an  earthquake,  would  in 
Boston.  Besides  the  horror  which  so  sacrilegious  an 
act  awakened  in  every  good  Catholic,  the  theft  involved 
a  considerable  pecuniary  loss,  for  the  head  was  en- 
closed in  a  silver  case,  set  with  jewels,  valued  at  about 
twenty  thousand  dollars.  A  liberal  reward  was  offered 
for  the  restoration  of  the  relic,  which  was  found  on  the 
last  day  of  March,  buried  in  a  vineyard  outside  of  the 
walls.  The  silver  case  and  most  of  the  jewels  were 


ILLUMINATION    OF    ST.    PETER'S.  189 

also  recovered.  This  happy  event  was  ascribed  by  the 
common  people  to  a  miracle,  but  the  clue  to  the  dis- 
covery was  undoubtedly  given  in  the  confessional. 
The  next  day,  the  bells  all  over  the  city  rung  out  a 
peal  of  triumph,  and  in  the  evening  there  was  a.partial 
illumination  of  the  dome  .of  St.  Peter's.  But  this  was 
not  a  sufficient  expression  of  gratitude,  for  on  the  fifth 
of  April,  in  the  following  week,  the  restored  treasure 
was  borne  from  the  Church  of  St.  Andrea  della  Valle 
to  St.  Peter's,  with  all  the  state  and  splendor  which  the 
Romish  church  could  command.  The  procession  was 
as  numerous  and  imposing,  to  say  the  least,  as  any  that 
has  been  seen  in  modern  times  ;  for  besides  the  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  dignitaries  who  always  appear  offi- 
cially on  such  occasions,  it  was  increased  by  many 
who  simply  wished  to  gratify  the  Pope  ;  since  it  was 
generally  understood  that  he  had  been  greatly  disturbed 
at  the  loss,  and  equally  rejoiced  at  its  restoration.  The 
relic  was  placed  in  a  glass  case,  on  a  kind  of  car,  under 
a  silken  canopy.  The  chief  place  in  the  procession 
was  occupied  by  the  college  of  cardinals,  with  the  Pope 
himself  at  their  head.  Besides  these,  there  were  the 
Roman  nobles,  the  various  religious  orders,  the  paro- 
chial clergy,  the  members  of  the  ecclesiastical  colleges, 
the  municipality  of  Rome,  the  guard  of  nobles,  the 
newly  organized  civic  guard,  various  recently  formed 
clubs  and  associations,  and,  what  was  most  character- 
istic of  the  general  tone  of  feeling  and  most  novel  in  a 
Roman  procession,  a  band  of  ladies,  of  noble  birth, 
dressed  in  black,  their  heads  covered  with  veils,  and 
carrying  lighted  tapers  in  their  hands.  The  weather 
was  fine,  and  as  the  splendid  procession,  so  rich  in 


190  ILLUMINATION    OF    ST.    PETER'S. 

costume  and  color,  passed  through  the  piazza  of  St. 
Peter's,  which  was  filled  with  spectators  on  foot  and  in 
carriages,  the  effect  was  in  the  highest  degree  beautiful 
and  imposing.  The  length  of  the  procession,  the 
superb  «costumes  defying  the  most  piercing  power  of 
daylight,  the  grand  dimensions  of  the  piazza  itself, 
the  noble  architectural  forms  on  either  side,  and  the 
animation  and  interest  which  glowed  in  every  counte- 
nance, covered  and  concealed  the  theatrical  element, 
and  left  only  a  stately  symbol,  in  which  the  grateful 
sense  of  a  religious  community  put  on  an  outward  form, 
such  as  suited  their  susceptible  temperament  and  their 
ever-hungry  senses.  It  is  only  on  occasions  like  these 
that  we  see  and  feel  the  whole  power  of  the  Romish 
Church,  which,  on  ordinary  ceremonials,  seems  to  hold 
back  and  keep  in  reserve  one  half  its  resources.  The 
most  conscientious  Protestant,  unless  he  were  as  hard 
and  as  cold  as  the  stones  on  which  he  stood,  could  not 
help  ceasing  to  protest,  for  the  moment  at  least ;  nor 
could  he  fail  to  feel  upon  his  heart  the  benediction  of 
waters,  drawn  from  the  common  stream  of  faith  and 
emotion  before  it  had  reached  the  dividing  rock. 

In  the  evening,  a  finer  and  fuller  illumination  of  St. 
Peter's  took  place  than  on  the  previous  week.  This  is 
one  of  those  sights  of  which  the  reality  surpasses  all 
previous  imagination.  An  illumination  is  always  beau- 
tiful, but  the  enormous  size  of  St.  Peter's  makes  it  sub- 
lime. The  defects  of  the  building  are  lost,  and  only 
its  majestic  outlines  are  traced  in  horizontal  and  per- 
pendicular lines  of  fire.  It  looks  like  a  glorified  and 
transfigured  structure  —  such  as  paints  itself  upon  the 
mind's  eye  after  reading  Banyan's  description  of  the 


ILLUMINATION    OF    ST.    PETER'S.  191 

New  Jerusalem  —  all  made  of  light,  and  rising  up  to 
the  sound  of  celestial  music.  The  two  points  from 
which  the  illumination  is  seen  to  the  greatest  advan- 
tage are,  the  piazza  in  front  of  the  church  and  the 
Pincian  Hill.  From  the  former,  the  magnificent  spec- 
tacle is  viewed  in  all  its  details  and  dimensions.  Little 
is  left  for  the  imagination  but  every  thing  is  addressed 
to  the  eye,  that,  bathed  in  a  flood  of  soft  light,  in 
which  the  whole  space  embraced  within  the  colonnades 
is  as  bright  as  a  noon-day  sun,  runs  over  with  the 
keenest  satisfaction  the  glowing  lines  which  charm 
without  dazzling.  But  when  viewed  from  the  Pincian 
Hill,  the  effect  is  quite  different.  The  imagination  is 
impressed  in  proportion  as  the  eye  loses.  The  lumi- 
nous dome  becomes  an  aerial  vision,  floating  between 
heaven  and  earth  —  an  arrested  meteor  —  which  throws 
upon  the  dark  sky  the  crimson  light  of  a  conflagration. 
The  tremulous  movement  given  to  the  flames  of  the 
lamps  by  the  wind,  adds  greatly  to  the  effect.  It  seems 
as  if  a  shower  of  stars  had  fallen  upon  the  building,  and 
were  yet  quivering  and  trembling  with  the  shock.  It 
was  altogether  like  an  exquisite  vision  —  something 
not  of  the  earth  —  and  had  we  seen  the  radiant  mys- 
tery slowly  mounting  upward  and  passing  into  the  sky, 
it  would  have  seemed  no  more  than  its  natural  and 
appropriate  close. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Excursions  to  Frascati  and  Tirol!. 
EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI. 

IF  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Rome  is  deficient 
in  that  beauty  and  variety  which  are  so  conspicuous  at 
Naples  and  at  Florence,  an  ample  equivalent  is  found 
in  the  noble  ranges  of  mountains  that  encircle  the 
Campagna  on  the  south  and  east.  That  fine  assem- 
blage of  rounded  heights,  table-lands,  valleys,  lakes, 
and  sloping  declivities,  familiarly  known  by  the  com- 
prehensive name  of  the  Alban  Mount,  is  a  bounteous 
gift  of  Providence,  for  which  a  lover  of  Nature,  living 
in  Rome,  should  offer  up  perpetual  thanksgivings.  It 
is  not  of  the  family  of  those  lower  ranges  of  the  Apen- 
nines which  are  seen  beyond  and  on  each  side  of  it,  but 
is  of  volcanic  origin  ;  and  it  seems  to  have  been  added 
as  a  special  grace  and  crowning  charm  to  a  landscape 
already  rich  in  the  elements  of  beauty  and  grandeur. 
It  is  of  an  egg-like  shape  —  the  sides  being  nearly 
parallel  to  the  course  of  the  Tiber  —  about  sixteen 
miles  in  length  and  twelve  in  breadth.  It  rises  up  like 
an  island  from  the  green  plain  of  th*e  Campagna,  as  it 


EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI.  193 

once  emerged  from  the  level  of  that  sea,  which  at  a 
remote  period,  occupied  the  whole  Agro  Romano.  Its 
most  elevated  point  is  about  three  thousand  feet  high. 
It  is  covered  with  towns  and  villages  ;  its  whole  popu- 
lation amounting  to  about  forty  thousand,  who  are 
mostly  engaged  in  agriculture.  They  have  a  good 
reputation  with  those  who  have  lived  among  them. 
They  are  said  to  be  a  courteous  yet  manly  race  ; 
clinging  to  old  customs  and  old  costumes  ;  with  a  taste 
for  enjoyment  which  survives  the  pressure  of  that 
poverty  and  severe  toil  that  is  the  hopeless  lot  of  many 
of  them.  At  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  the  whole 
region  swarms  with  artists,  who  find  there  an  inexhaus- 
tible variety  of  woodland  and  mountain  scenery,  to- 
gether with  picturesque  dresses  and  fine  figures  and 
faces.  The  rich,  volcanic  soil  invites  and  rewards  a 
careful  cultivation.  On  the  warm  sunny  slopes  which 
border  on  the  Campagna,  the  vine  and  olive  flourish 
luxuriantly  :  extensive  tracts  are  also  employed  in  the 
raising  of  garden  vegetables.  The  peach,  the  apple, 
the  pear,  the  plum,  and  the  cherry,  all  find  congenial 
soil  and  climate.  Higher  up,  the  chestnut  thrives, 
whose  fruit,  as  every  one  knows,  is  an  important  part 
of  the  food  of  the  rural  population  of  Italy.  Still 
higher,  are  forests  of  oak  and  pine,  where  the  wood- 
man's axe  rings  through  the  glades,  and  the  fires  of  the 
charcoal  burners  gleam  at  night.  It  is  now  and  has 
ever  been  a  favorite  place  of  retreat  from  the  heats  of 
Rome.  Here  the  Pope  has  his  summer  palace,  and 
here  are  a  large  number  of  the  sumptuous  villas  of  the 
Roman  nobles. 

The  Alban  Mount  is  also  full  of  historical  and  legen- 

VOL.    II.  13 


194  EXCURSION  TO  FEASCATI. 

dary  interest.  The  Latin  tribe,  one  of  the  constituent 
elements  of  the  Roman  people,  had  here  its  seat. 
Upon  the  highest  peak  of  the  range  was  the  temple  of 
Jupiter  Latiaris,  where  all  the  tribes  of  Latin  blood,  the 
Romans  included,  met  every  year  to  worship ;  and 
where  the  victorious  generals  of  the  republic  repaired 
to  offer  praises  and  acknowledgments.  In  these  moun- 
tain glens,  undoubtedly,  most  of  that  ballad  literature 
of  Rome,  the  loss  of  which  Macaulay  so  eloquently 
laments,  and  so  successfully  restores,  had  its  origin. 
Nor  need  the  scholar  be  reminded  that  this  is  the  scene 
of  the  most  original  and  vigorous  portions  of  the  jEneid 
of  Virgil ;  nor  how  the  genius  of  the  poet,  which  rather 
languidly  recounts  the  traditions  borrowed  from  Greece, 
wakes  to  new  life,  when  he  feels  his  feet  upon  his  own 
soil,  and  deals  with  Latin  names  and  Latin  legends. 

To  this  Alban  Mount,  in  exploring  which  many 
weeks  might  be  profitably  and  agreeably  spent,  I  could 
only  give  two  days.  I  left  Rome  on  the  second  day 
of  April,  after  an  early  breakfast,  and  arrived  at  Fras- 
cati  some  time  before  noon.  We  were  a  party  of  five, 
and  I  can  only  say  of  my  companions  that  had  I  had 
the  power  of  making  a  selection  from  among  all  my 
friends,  I  could  hardly  have  chosen  better.  Among 
them  the  arts  of  sculpture,  painting,  poetry,  and  music 
were  worthily  represented,  and  there  was  a  common 
fund  of  frankness,  good-humor,  animal  spirits,  and  love 
of  nature,  from  which  all  drew  in  fair  proportions. 
One  of  them  possessed  the  convenient  accomplishment 
of  a  perfect  acquaintance  with  the  Italian  language. 
Thus  companioned,  as  I  drove  to  the  excellent  inn  at 
Frascati,  on  a  fine  breezy  morning  in  spring,  under  a 


EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI.  195 

sky  of  the  loveliest  blue,  with  nature  bursting  into 
bloom  and  bud  all  around,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  land- 
scape to  which  Cicero,  Virgil,  and  Livy  had  given 
dignity  and  beauty,  I  felt  that  I  had  much  to  see  and 
much  to  remember. 

We  first  went  into  the  grounds  of  the  Villa  Conti, 
which  lie  near  the  inn.  These  are  not  among  the 
most  famous  or  the  most  extensive  of  those  at  Frascati, 
but  in  them  nature  has  not  been  so  elaborately  dressed 
and  decorated  as  in  some  others,  and  they  therefore 
retain  more  of  the  charm  of  simplicity,  and  are  also 
in  good  condition.  There  is  a  thick  plantation  of  fine 
old  trees  in  the  rear  of  the  casino,  which  stand  close 
together  and  form  an  impenetrable  shield  of  foliage, 
upon  which  the  fierce  rays  of  an  Italian  summer  sun 
beat  in  vain  ;  and  in  the  very  heart  of  the  grove  is  a 
mimic  lake  of  pure  water,  not  much  bigger  than  a 
signet  ring,  gathered  into  a  marble  basin  upon  which, 
even  at  noon,  a  broad  shadow  is  flung  from  the  ver- 
durous wall  reared  around  it.  There  is  nothing  here 
very  elaborate  or  costly ;  and  yet  all  the  needs  and  re- 
quirements of  a  summer  retreat  in  a  hot  climate  seem 
to  be  fully  met.  The  trees  were  oaks,  cypresses,  and 
pines,  the  foliage  of  which  is  massive  and  dark;  and 
the  shadows  they  formed  were  so  deep  and  solid,  that 
the  eye  seemed  to  be  looking  into  the  hollow  of  a 
cavern,  or  the  aisle  of  a  cathedral,  rather  than  into 
a  woodland  alley.  The  luxury  of  such  shadows  and 
such  fine  sparkling  water  may  well  be  imagined  in 
those  intolerable  days  of  August,  when  the  sky  that 
bends  over  the  Campagna  is  turned  into  a  vault  of 
glowing  brass,  and  the  sun,  into  a  fiery  dragon  that 
eats  up  every  green  thing. 


196  EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI. 

After  lunching  at  the  inn,  we  took  a  donkey 
excursion  to  the  remains  of  Tusculum,  about  two 
miles  distant,  occupying  the  summit  of  the  hill  on 
the  lowest  spurs  of  which  Frascati  is  situated.  The  road 
led  through  woodlands  and  pastures,  not  unlike  some 
portions  of  New  England,  and  opened  widening  pros- 
pects as  we  ascended.  Here  are  many  interesting 
ruins,  especially  the  remains  of  a  theatre,  most  of  the 
seats  of  which  were  hewn  from  the  living  rock,  as 
was  often  the  case  with  such  structures  among  the 
ancients. 

It  is  difficult,  however,  for  any  one  to  waste  a  look 
upon  a  dead  ruin  upon  a  spot  from  which  so  living  and 
glorious  a  landscape  may  be  seen.  On  one  side  are 
Rome,  crowned  with  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and  the 
Campagna,  a  motionless  sea  of  green,  which  imper- 
ceptibly flows  into  the  living  blue  of  the  Mediterranean. 
On  the  opposite  side  are  the  Alban  Valley,  traversed 
by  the  Via  Latina,  the  wooded  crest  of  Monte  Pila,  the 
Camp  of  Hannibal,  the  convent  on  Monte  Cavi,  and 
the  ridge  of  Alba  Longa  —  a  landscape  as  exhilarating 
from  its  variety  and  picturesque  contrasts  as  that  to- 
wards Rome  is  impressive  from  its  vastness  and  mo- 
notony. 

On  our  way  back  we  paid  a  visit  to  the  Villa  Rufinella, 
which  is  splendidly  situated  on  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
and  commanding  a  prospect  hardly  inferior  to  that 
from  the  site  of  Tusculum.  The  lawn  in  front  and 
the  portico  contained  many  works  in  marble,  more  or 
less  dilapidated,  which  had  been  found  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  not  deemed  worthy  of  being  transferred 
to  a  more  ambitious  museum.  In  the  grounds  is  a 


EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI.  197 

quaint  horticultural  toy,  which  would  have  seemed 
pretty  enough  if  done  by  children,  but  is  hardly  wor- 
thy of  men  and  women.  Along  the  slope  of  a  gentle 
hill  the  names  of  the  most  celebrated  poets  of  all 
nations  are  traced  in  boxwood,  and  are  still  distinctly 
legible  in  living  green,  though  grown  a  little  out  of 
proportion.  This  villa  was  unoccupied  except  by  a 
steward  or  bailiff,  who  looked  after  the  grounds  and 
received  the  visitors. 

On  our  return  to  Frascati  we  visited  the  most  cele- 
brated of  its  villas,  the  Villa  Aldobrandini.  Erected 
during  the  latter  part  of  the  sixteenth  centuiy,  by  Car- 
dinal Pietro  Aldobrandini,  nephew  of  Pope  Clement 
VIII.,  under  the  superintendence  of  Giacomo  della 
Porta,  it  stands  as  a  most  striking  memorial  of  the 
great  resources  held  by  the  ecclesiastical  nobility  of 
that  age,  and  the  magnificent  style  in  which  they  were 
used.  It  is  situated  on  the  sloping  side  of  a  hill,  and 
the  architect  has  been  happy  in  the  adaptation  of  his 
structure  to  the  character  of  its  site,  but  the  building 
itself  has  little  beauty  of  outline  or  proportion.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  all  the  villas  of  Frascati.  They 
belong  to  the  dark  days  of  art,  and  when  we  consider 
the  rich  capabilities  of  their  situations,  and  the  great 
expense  lavished  upon  many  of  them,  we  cannot  but 
wonder  that  even  then  so  little  architectural  invention 
was  displayed  upon  them,  and  that  so  little  architectural 
beauty  has  been  the  result.  They  are  open  to  the 
general  criticism  of  wanting  character  and  expression. 
What  would  not  Palladio  have  done  with  such  spots  to 
build  upon  and  such  fortunes  to  build  with  ? 

The  Villa  Aldobrandini  has  long  been  celebrated 


198  EXCURSION    TO   FRASCATI. 

for  its  waterworks,  in  which  that  element,  under  the 
guidance  of  Fontana's  fantastic  genius,  was  made  to 
play  a  variety  of  tricks,  as  unlike  its  natural  move- 
ments as  are  the  contortions  of  a  rope-dancer  to  the 
bounding  grace  of  a  wood  nymph.  Among  other  things, 
there  was  in  the  gardens  a  statue  of  Pan  with  a  pipe 
of  reeds,  and  of  a  satyr  with  a  trumpet,  and  each,  by 
the  action  of  water,  was  made  to  emit  a  sound  similar 
to  that  of  the  instrument  he  carried.  The  peculiar 
situation  of  Frascati  encouraged,  and  perhaps  helped 
to  form  a  taste  for  these  costly  playthings  in  water, 
for  which  the  cravings  created  by  a  hot  climate  offer 
the  best  apology.  Placed  on  the  lower  spurs  and  ter- 
races of  a  succession  of  hills,  from  which  copious  and 
rapid  streams  of  water  were  constantly  flowing,  the 
hydraulic  artist  found  here  in  the  highest  perfection 
the  two  great  elements  of  his  calling ;  an  abundance 
of  water  and  a  sufficient  head  or  projectile  force.  The 
element  became  in  his  hands  the  most  docile  of  slaves. 
He  could  make  it  leap  in  sheaves  of  foam  and  obelisks 
of  silver ;  trip  down  cascades  of  marble,  or  repose 
upon  couches  of  turf.  It  was  seen  in  conjunction  with 
grandeur  and  with  quaintness,  but  rarely  with  sim- 
plicity or  good  taste.  The  Villa  Aldobrandini  has  of 
late  years  been  seldom  occupied,  and  its  elaborate  and 
expensive  structures  are  slowly  going  to  decay.  The 
diminished  incomes  and  simpler  tastes  of  our  day  are 
not  in  unison  with  establishments  upon  so  grand  a 
scale,  which,  descending,  as  they  often  do,  to  impover- 
ished families,  must  be  a  source  of  any  thing  but  agree- 
able reflections  and  associations.  What  greater  vexa- 
tion can  there  be  than  to  inherit  an  immense  palace  or 


EXCURSION  TO  FRASCATI.  199 

villa,  with  an  income  insufficient  to  live  in  it,  and  made 
insufficient  mainly  by  means  of  the  expense  incurred 
in  its  erection  ?  Such  structures  are  often  the  graves 
and  the  monuments  of  buried  fortunes,  and  their  mag- 
nificence serves  as  a  scale  by  which  we  can  measure 
the  difference  between  ancient  ambition  and  present 
decay. 

The  next  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast,  we  sum- 
moned once  more  our  faithful  friends,  the  donkeys,  and 
took  up  our  line  of  march  for  Albano.  It  was  a  bright, 
sparkling,  spring  morning,  and  the  early  dew  yet  hung 
upon  the  grass,  and  thin  straggling  vapors  crept  over 
the  plain  of  the  Campagna.  We  first  paid  a  visit  to 
the  Villa  Muti,  where  Cardinal  York  lived,  and  which 
is  now  let  by  the  season.  There  is  nothing  very  re- 
markable in  the  architecture  or  embellishments  of  this 
villa,  but  its  situation  is  fine  and  the  grounds  are  prettily 
laid  out,  though  over  the  whole  there  hangs  an  air  of 
neglect ;  that  careless  and  slipshod  look  which  tells  that 
the  master's  eye  is  withdrawn.  As  one  of  our  party 
was  in  treaty  for  a  suite  of  rooms  in  this  villa,  we  went 
over  the  interior  and  examined  it  with  a  tenant's  dis- 
paraging eye.  What  we  saw  is  very  easily  described 
—  a  large  number  of  immense  rooms,  generally  open- 
ing into  each  other,  with  little  or  no  furniture,  and  no 
great  promise  of  that  indefinable  blessing  comfort. 
Many  of  the  floors  were  paved  with  tiles  or  brick,  like 
the  hearth  of  a  country  farm-house  ;  and  some  of  them 
with  a  diversity  of  surface  like  a  rolling  prairie  on  a 
small  scale.  The  great  luxury  was  in  space,  and  of 
this  there  was  enough  and  to  spare.  There  were 
drawing-rooms  in  which  a  general  conversation  could 


200  EXCURSION   TO    FRASCATI. 

hardly  be  kept  up  except  by  the  aid  of  speaking-trum- 
pets. It  seemed  to  me  that  the  whole  family  of  Priam 
might  have  been  stowed  away  in  this  villa.  It  is  well 
enough  in  summer,  though  even  then  a  magnetic  tele- 
graph would  be  a  '  real  blessing '  to  housekeepers,  but 
in  winter  such  a  congress  of  great  stone  barns  under 
one  roof  must  be  forlorn  enough. 

After  leaving  this  villa,  we  entered  upon  a  beautiful 
sylvan  region  overshadowed  with  fine  oaks  and  chest- 
nuts, and  brightened  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of  flowers 
and  flowering  shrubs.  I  was  struck,  as  I  had  been  on 
the  previous  day,  with  the  resemblance  which  the 
scenery  bore  to  some  of  the  woodland  tracts  of  our 
own  country.  There  was  the  same  light  and  airy  out- 
line to  the  branches,  the  same  delicate  tinge  of  yellow 
in  the  green  of  the  foliage,  the  same  tangled  variety  of 
growth,  and  the  same  look  of  unpruned  and  unchecked 
development.  It  was  a  tract  of  honest  wildwood,  and 
not  a  park  run  to  seed  ;  and  Romulus  and  Remus 
could  not  have  picked  flowers,  or  gathered  nuts,  upon 
the  lap  of  a  more  genuine  nature.  And  yet,  I  trust  it 
will  not  be  deemed  unpatriotic  to  say  that  no  forest 
that  waves  over  the  Mississippi  could  have  the  charm 
that  hallowed  these  venerable  woods.  The  centuries 
of  history  and  tradition  that  have  passed  over  these 
green  patriarchs  have  carved  memorials  upon  their 
trunks  and  mingled  airy  voices  with  the  rustlings  of  the 
breeze.  We  look  upon  every  landscape,  partly  with 
the  natural  eye,  and  partly  with  the  eye  of  the  mind. 
We  see  more  than  the  painter  can  transfer  to  his 
canvas.  No  western  prairie  shines  with  the  light  of 
Marathon  or  Runnymede  ;  and  the  poetry  of  Virgil 


EXCURSION   TO    FRASCATI.  201 

and  the  legends  of  Livy  deepen  the  shadows  of  these 
forest  aisles  of  Frascati,  and  touch  their  domes  of 
foliage  with  spiritual  gleams. 

Our  first  resting-place  was  the  monastery  of  monks 
of  the  Greek  order  of  St.  Basilio,  at  Grotta  Ferrata. 
Bristling  with  towers  and  surrounded  with  a  ditch,  it 
has  more  the  air  of  a  fortress  than  of  a  monastery ;  but 
its  style  of  architecture  is  well  suited  to  its  situation  ; 
for  its  frowning  aspect  is  the  more  impressive  from  its 
contrast  with  the  sylvan  region,  thickly  wooded  with 
elms  and  planes,  above  which  it  rises.  The  great  at- 
traction of  this  monastery  consists  in  a  series  of  seven 
frescoes  by  Domenichino,  in  the  chapel ;  the  subjects 
of  which  are  taken  from  the  legendary  life  of  St.  Nilus, 
its  founder.  So  far  as  a  hurried  examination  of  these 
works  enabled  me  to  judge,  they  seemed  of  great  merit, 
and  not  a  jot  below  their  high  reputation.  They  do  not 
beat  down  the  mind  with  superhuman  power,  like  the 
frescoes  of  Michael  Angelo  ;  nor  fill  it  with  visions  of 
celestial  beauty,  like  those  of  Raphael.  Domenichino 
was  neither  a  giant  nor  a  seraph.  But  these  works  at 
once  delight  the  taste  and  satisfy  the  critical  judgment. 
Their  conspicuous  excellence  consists  in  their  loyalty 
to  truth.  There  is  nothing  in  them  that  is  false,  ex- 
travagant, or  affected  ;  nothing  theatrical,  distorted,  or 
violent.  The  expressions  and  attitudes  are  such  as  the 
subject  demands.  There  is  no  crowding,  hurrying,  or 
jostling  in  the  groups,  but  every  figure  has  room  enough, 
and  moves  and  breathes  freely.  Charles  Lamb  said  of 
Middleton,  that  he  was  a  prose  Shakespeare.  It  may 
be  said  of  Domenichino,  that  he  was  a  <prose  Raphael. 
Up  to  a  certain  point,  the  two  move  together.  In  cor- 


202  EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI. 

rectness  of  drawing,  dramatic  truth  of  expression,  purity 
of  color,  accuracy  of  observation,  good  judgment,  and 
good  taste,  they  are  alike.  So  long  as  both  remain 
upon  the  earth,  they  keep  side  by  side.  But  as  in  the 
'  Hermit '  of  Parnell,  the  strange  youth  at  length  puts 
on  the  beaming  port  of  an  angel,  and  soars  out  of  sight 
of  his  kneeling  companion,  so  does  Raphael's  genius 
leave  the  earth  on  angelic  wings  and  move  in  celestial 
regions  of  light  and  beauty,  towards  which  his  successor 
can  only  turn  an  upward  and  aspiring  gaze. 

After  leaving  Grotta  Ferrata,  we  came  in  a  few  mo- 
ments to  Marino,  a  town  finely  situated  on  a  hill,  and 
looking  very  inviting  as  a  place  of  summer  retreat, 
Hence  we  passed  into  a  deep  glen,  beautifully  wooded 
with  noble  trees  —  memorable  as  the  place  of  meet- 
ing of  the  Latin  tribes,  where  the  brave  and  rash 
Turnus  Herdonius  came  to  his  death  by  the  arts  of 
Tarquin  the  Proud.  A  more  inviting  spot  for  a  delibe- 
rative assemblage  could  hardly  be  found.  However 
numerous  the  delegations,  there  would  be  seats  enough 
for  all,  nor  could  they  ever  be  called  upon  to  consider 
those  embarrassing  questions  of  ventilation  which  have 
so  sorely  perplexed  the  legislative  wisdom  of  Great 
Britain.  We  found  the  valley  occupied  neither  by 
warriors  nor  statesmen,  but  by  groups  of  women  en- 
gaged in  the  peaceful  employment  of  washing  linen  in 
the  very  stream  in  which,  as  Livy  relates,  the  Latin 
chieftain  was  drowned.  It  was  a  pretty  sight ;  the  un- 
bonneted  heads  and  picturesque  dresses  of  the  women 
blending  well  with  the  scenery  around  them  ;  while  the 
homely  associations  usually  belonging  to  such  house- 
hold duties  were  somewhat  relieved  by  the  sparkling 


EXCURSION    TO    FRASCATI.  203 

purity  of  the  running  waters,  the  bending  foliage,  and 
the  blue  sky. 

The  road  from  Marino  to  Castel  Gandolfo,  winding 
around  the  Alban  lake  and  overshadowed  by  noble 
forests,  and  with  fine  views  of  the  heights  on  the  oppo- 
site side,  is  one  of  such  varied  beauty  that  the  pleasure 
of  passing  over  it  only  once  is  alloyed  by  the  thought 
that  it  is  not  to  be  traversed  a  second  time.  The 
Pope's  villa  at  Castel  Gandolfo  is  a  comparatively 
modest  mansion,  as  if  the  architect  had  been  thinking 
more  of  the  apostolic,  than  of  the  princely  character  of 
the  tenant,  and  erected  a  house  for  the  priest  and  not  a 
palace  for  the  sovereign.  Not  far  from  it  is  a  villa 
belonging  to  a  member  of  the  Torlonia  family,  more  to 
be  coveted  than  any  of  the  splendid  structures  at  Fras- 
cati  ;  for  its  situation  is  beautiful  and  commanding, 
looking  down  upon  the  lake  and  lying  open  to  all  the 
mountain  winds  ;  and  it  had,  besides,  an  inviting  aspect 
of  comfort  and  habitableness.  Leaving  these  villas  on 
the  right,  we  skirted  for  some  time  the  wooded  banks 
of  the  lake  in  search  of  a  convenient  resting-place,  and 
having  found  one,  we  came  to  a  halt,  having  by  this 
time  earned  an  appetite  for  a  frugal  lunch  of  bread, 
cheese,  oranges,  and  wine,  which  we  procured  from  an 
osteria  in  the  neighborhood. 

This  lake  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  sheets  of  water 
in  Italy  or  any  where  else.  It  is  about  six  miles  in  cir- 
cumference, and  fills  up  the  crater  of  an  extinguished 
volcano.  Its  form  is  nearly  circular,  and  its  outline 
as  symmetrical  as  if  shaped  by  the  hand  of  art.  The 
character  of  a  small  lake  is  determined  by  its  banks,  as 
the  expression  of  an  eye  largely  depends  upon  the  eye- 


204          EXCURSION  TO  FRASCATI. 

brow  and  superciliary  ridge.  A  piece  of  water,  of  the 
size  of  the  Alban  lake,  encompassed  with  flat,  tame 
banks  overgrown  with  scrubby  fringes  of  underbrush, 
would  have  no  other  beauty  than  that  derived  from  the 
sky,  from  the  floating  clouds  that  cast  their  reflections 
into  its  tranquil  depths,  or  from  the  winds  that  break  up 
its  surface  and  give  it  the  grace  of  motion.  But  the 
frame  or  socket,  in  which  the  waters  of  the  Alban  lake 
are  set,  is  the  most  beautiful  possible.  It  is  a  cup- 
shaped  hollow,  and  its  steep  and  high  banks  are  cov- 
ered with  a  noble  growth  of  stately  trees,  that  would 
give  dignity  to  the  flat  sides  of  a  muddy  canal.  The 
banks  in  some  places  are  almost  as  perpendicular  as 
the  sides  of  a  well.  A  landscape-painter  might  study 
here  to  great  advantage  two  important  elements  of  his 
art,  the  character  of  foliage  and  the  effect  of  shadows 
upon  water.  In  the  round  of  mountain  and  forest  which 
clasped  this  lovely  lake,  there  was  not  the  least  touch 
of  tarneness,  but  every  where  the  richly-wooded  and 
precipitous  banks  had  the  same  striking  and  expressive 
aspect.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  which  recalled 
man  and  his  works  ;  no  intrusive  structure,  no  sail,  no 
boat,  no  angler's  rod  ;  but  all  was  mountain  solitude, 
primeval  stillness,  and  uninvaded  nature.  Beauty  so 
solemn,  loneliness  so  profound,  the  power  stamped 
upon  the  grand,  old  hills,  and  the  gentleness  and  peace 
breathed  over  the  unruffled  lake,  made  up  a  scene 
which  could  only  be  described  by  the  hackneyed  epithet 
of  unearthly.  The  mind  seemed  prepared  for,  almost 
to  expect,  communications  from  some  sources  higher 
than  itself,  and  the  mood  which  came  over  it  recalled 
and  explained  the  fine  visions  of  Greek  mythology.  In 


EXCURSION   TO   TIVOLI.  205 

the  childhood  of  time  it  was  natural  to  people  such 
scenes  with  forms  more  majestic  and  more  lovely  than 
those  which  are  born  of  woman.  Such  woods  and  such 
waters  seemed  imperfect  till  they  were  made  the  habi- 
tations of  beings  exempt  from  mortal  infirmities  and 
mortal  decay. 

We  left  this  beautiful  spot  with  regret,  and  taking  up 
our  line  of  march  along  the  road  which  leads  from 
Castel  Gandolfo  to  Albano,  we  arrived  at  the  latter 
place  early  in  the  afternoon.  We  did  not  remain  there 
long  enough  to  see  any  of  the  sights  usually  shewn  to 
travellers,  but  long  enough  to  draw  about  us  that  uni- 
versal nuisance  of  Italy,  a  swarm  of  clamorous  beggars. 
We  amused  ourselves,  while  waiting  for  the  carriage, 
with  bringing  this  irregular  army  into  discipline  ;  com- 
pelling them  to  hold  their  tongues  and  arranging  them 
in  a  line  according  to  stature,  and  then  rewarding  them 
with  a  distribution  of  barocchi.  They  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  joke  quite  readily,  and  there  was  much 
hearty  laughing  on  both  sides  ;  but  there  was  no  trace 
among  them  of  the  sense  of  shame  ;  and  in  their  spark- 
ling eyes  of  brown  and  black  there  was  not  the  slightest 
shadow  of  self-reproach.  We  drove  back  to  Rome  in 
the  glow  of  a  fine  sunset,  which  bathed  every  object  in 
a  most  appropriate  and  becoming  light. 

EXCURSION    TO    TIVOLI. 

Our  excursion  to  Frascati  had  been  so  agreeable 
that  we  resolved  upon  another  to  Tivoli.  We  left 
Rome  early  in  the  morning  by  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo 
and  drove  by  the  basilica  of  the  same  name,  and  soon 


EXCURSION   TO    TIVOLI. 

after  passed  the  rounded  heights  crowned  by  the  ruins 
of  the  Torre  di  Schiavi.  It  was  a  fine  morning,  and 
the  Campagna,  robed  in  the  freshness  of  early  spring, 
never  looked  more  lovely.  .  About  twelve  miles  from 
Rome  there  is  a  spot  still  subject  to  that  volcanic  action 
once  so  powerful  throughout  this  whole  region.  The 
road  crosses  an  artificial  stream  strongly  impregnated 
with  sulphur,  which  is  betrayed  not  only  by  the  peculiar 
color  of  its  steaming  waters,  but  by  the  odors,  other 
than  Sabsean,  with  which  the  air  is  far  and  wide 
filled.  The  lake,  or  pool,  which  this  canal  drains,  lies 
about  a  mile  to  the  left  of  the  road,  and  is  well  known 
to  ciceroni  and  travellers,  from  the  masses  of  vegetable 
matter  which  float  upon  its  surface,  and  give  it  its  name 
of  the  lake  of  the  floating  islands.  Its  bituminous 
waters,  strongly  charged  with  sulphur  and  alum,  are  of 
an  unusual  specific  gravity,  so  that  the  dust  and  light 
substances  which  the  wind  blows  upon  the  surface  are 
there  arrested  and  slowly  massed  together  into  a  com- 
pact crust.  When  this  crust  is  broken  up,  as  by  a 
heavy  storm,  the  detached  fragments  sooner  or  later 
drift  towards  the  shore,  which  they  thus  gradually  en- 
large, contracting  the  space  occupied  by  the  waters. 
By  this  process,  its  circumference,  formerly  a  mile  in 
extent,  is  now  only  about  fourteen  hundred  feet.  Just 
before  reaching  this  Solfatara  canal,  as  it  is  called,  the 
road  passes  near  a  potid,  or  rather  a  space  in  which  the 
solid  and  liquid  seem  to  be  contending  for  possession  of 
the  soil,  for  the  waters,  strongly  impregnated  with  car- 
bonate of  lime,  are  gradually  depositing  a  calcareous 
crust  by  which  their  own  bed  is  constantly  contracted, 
and  will  eventually  wholly  disappear.  This  calcareous 


EXCURSION    TO   TIVOLI.  207 

deposit  forms  the  travertine  so  much  used  in  the  build- 
ings of  Rome,  and  the  scene  carried  back  the  thoughts 
to  those  periods,  so  remote  that  the  imagination  can 
hardly  grasp  the  interval,  when  the  stones  of  St.  Peter's 
and  the  Colosseum  were  held  in  solution  by  sheets  of 
water  like  this.  The  reeds  and  rushes,  which  grow  in 
great  profusion  on  the  margin  of  the  pond,  become  in 
time  encrusted  with  this  stony  deposit,  and  the  vegetable 
core  being  destroyed,  they  take  the  form  of  pipe-stems 
or  petrified  macaroni. 

A  short  distance  beyond  the  canal,  the  road  crosses 
the  Anio,  now  the  Teverone,  by  the  Ponte  Lucano,  a 
Roman  bridge  of  massive  construction.  At  the  end  of 
the  bridge,  on  the  left,  is  the  tomb  of  Plautius  Lucanus, 
a  round  tower,  built  of  travertine,  essentially  similar  to 
the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella,  though  of  smaller  dimen- 
sions. "  The  men  who  built  the  bridge  and  reared  the 
monument  probably  knew  and  cared  very  little  about 
what  we  call  the  picturesque,  and  yet  the  two,  in  com- 
bination, make  an  architectural  picture  so  pleasing  that 
they  look  as  if  they  had  been  placed  where  they  are, 
on  purpose  to  be  painted.  The  inevitable  eye  of  Poussin 
detected  the  capabilities  of  this  spot,  and  its  structures 
reappear  in  one  of  his  most  celebrated  landscapes. 

The  entrance  to  the  remains  of  Hadrian's  villa  is 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  bridge.  They  belong 
to  the  Duke  of  Braschi,  and  no  one  is  admitted  without 
his  written  permission,  which,  however,  is  freely  given. 
A  large  farm-house  is  near  the  gate,  which  we  found 
strongly  barred,  and  it  was  not  opened  till  our  creden- 
tials had  been  carefully  examined. 

The  readers  of  Coleridge's  poetry  will  remember  the 


208  EXCURSION    TO    T1VOLI. 

gorgeous  procession  of  images  which  passed  through 
his  brain,  when  he  had  fallen  asleep  under  the  influence 
of  opium,  just  as  he  was  reading  this  passage  from 
Purchas's  Pilgrimage  —  'Here  the  Khan  Kubla  com- 
manded a  palace  to  be  built,  and  a  stately  garden 
thereunto  ;  and  thus  ten  miles  of  fertile  ground  were 
enclosed  with  a  wall.'  These  words  would  fall  short  of 
the  wonders  of  Hadrian's  villa,  a  magnificent  creation 
of  power  and  wealth,  to  which  there  is  nothing  in  occi- 
dental history,  at  least,  which  can  serve  as  a  parallel. 
The  Roman  emperor,  after  many  years  of  care  and 
conquest,  with  a  marked  taste  for  architecture,  and 
with  the  resources  of  the  whole  civilized  world  at 
his  command,  resolved  to  surround  his  declining  life 
with  reproductions  of  all  the  striking  objects  which  he 
had  seen  in  the  course  of  his  world-wide  wanderings. 
He  selected  for  the  site  of  this  gigantic  enterprise  a 
spot  singularly  favorable  to  his  objects.  It  was  a  range 
of  gently  undulating  hills,  of  about  three  miles  in  ex- 
tent, with  a  natural  boundary,  formed  in  part  by  a 
winding  valley,  and  partly  by  walls  of  rock.  On  the 
east,  it  was  overlooked  by  the  wooded  heights  of  the 
Sabine  Mountains  ;  and  on  the  west,  it  commanded  a 
view  of  the  Campagna  and  the  Eternal  City,  whose 
temples  and  obelisks,  relieved  against  the  golden  sky  of 
sunset,  must  have  soothed  the  mind  of  its  imperial  mas- 
ter with  thoughts  of  duties  performed  and  of  repose 
earned  by  toil.  The  natural  inequalities  and  undula- 
tions of  the  site,  which  furnished  heights,  plains,  valleys, 
and  glens,  aided  and  lightened  the  tasks  of  the  architect 
and  the  landscape  gardener.  The  emperor  is  said  to 
have  enclosed  a  space  of  eight  or  ten  miles  in  circuit, 


EXCURSION   TO   TIVOLI.  209 

so  that  if  the  statement  were  true,  the  villa  and  its 
appurtenances  occupied  an  area  greater  than  that  of 
Pompeii.  Here  he  set  to  work  with  armies  of  laborers 
and  mountains  of  gold,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space 
of  time,  the  ground  was  covered  with  an  amazing 
number  of  costly  and  extensive  structures,  which  had 
risen  like  exhalations  from  the  soil.  Besides  the  impe- 
rial palace,  there  were  a  library,  an  academy,  a 
lyceum,  numerous  temples,  one  or  more  theatres,  a 
covered  walk  or  portico,  and  spacious  barracks  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  Praetorian  guards.  Besides 
these,  a  glen  through  which  a  stream  flowed  was  made 
into  a  miniature  likeness  of  the  vale  of  Tempe  ;  a 
flowery  plain  was  called  by  the  name  of  the  Elysian 
Fields,  and  an  immense  cavern,  filled  with  sunless 
waters,  recalled  the  gloom  of  Tartarus. 

A  general  plan,  embracing  such  numerous  details 
and  executed  with  such  hot  haste,  could  not  have  been 
entirely  successful  unless  under  the  control  of  the  most 
unerring  taste,  and  it  may  well  be  doubted  whether  the 
villa  of  Hadrian,  when  completed,  did  not  present  jyiore 
points  for  wonder  than  admiration.  Castellan,  an  in- 
telligent French  traveller,  who  visited  the  ruins  at  the 
close  of  the  last  century,  when  they  were  much  more 
perfect  than  they  are  now,  and  who  seems  to  have 
studied  them  with  much  more  attention,  remarks,  that 
the  buildings  were  neither  skilfully  or  tastefully  dis- 
posed. Circular  and  rectangular  forms  were  brought 
together  in  incongruous  juxtaposition  ;  the  sharp  or  ob- 
tuse angle  of  one  structure  obtruded  upon  another; 
and  opposite  lines  of  building  were  not  parallel.  The 
whole  had  the  air  of  a  labyrinth,  and  was  stamped  with 

VOL.  II.  14 


210  EXCURSION    TO    TIVOL1. 

the  impress  of  a  fantastic  and  not  a  pure  taste.  The 
various  parts  were  capriciously  distributed,  like  the 
plans  of  an  architect  which  the  wind  had  blown  off  the 
table  and  scattered  at  random  over  the  floor. 

The  ruins,  at  the  present  time,  seen  hastily  and 
without  the  interpretation  of  an  intelligent  guide,  are  a 
confused  mass  of  decay,  revealing  very  little  of  their 
former  destination  or  structure.  We  still  see  walls 
which  were  reared  above  the  soil,  and  excavations 
which  were  made  below  it ;  and  many  shapeless  frag- 
ments are  strewed  along  its  surface  ;  but  there  is  not 
enough  left  to  reconstruct  the  past,  and  hardly  to  give 
name  and  identity  to  what  we  know  was  once  there. 
A  considerable  portion  of  the  space  formerly  occupied 
by  the  villa  is  now  under  cultivation,  and  nature,  aided 
by  a  soft  sky  and  a  productive  soil,  has  been  busy  in 
healing  the  gaping  wounds  of  time,  and  covering  un- 
sightly ruin  with  a  mantle  of  bloom  and  beauty.  The 
raw  brick  or  stone  is  rarely  to  be  seen,  but  vines,  trail- 
ing plants,  grass,  and  flowers  clasp  and  crown  the 
fragments  which  are  yet  standing  ;  and  the  places  of 
arched  substructions  are  marked  by  rounded  swells  of 
soft,  green  turf.  In  this  way,  what  we  lose  through 
ignorance  of  details  is  made  up  by  the  stronger  im- 
pression left  by  the  whole.  The  life  of  nature  is  better 
than  the  dead  bones  of  art.  The  whole  scene  is  now 
a  broad  page  on  which  is  stamped  an  impressive  lesson 
of  the  vanity  of  human  wishes.  The  great  emperor, 
even  while  his  last  workmen  were  gathering  up  their 
tools  to  depart,  was  attacked  by  a  mortal  disease  ;  and 
seventy  years  after  his  death,  Caracalla  began  the  work 
of  spoliation  by  carrying  off  its  most  costly  marbles  to 


EXCURSION   TO   TIVOLI.  211 

decorate  the  baths,  whose  ruins  are  in  turn  monuments 
to  his  name  in  Rome.  A  recent  French  traveller  states 
that  a  species  of  syringa,  which  Hadrian  brought  from 
the  East  and  planted  here,  still  sheds  its  fragrance  over 
these  ruins ;  this  delicate  and  fragile  flower,  a  part  of 
the  perennial  life  of  Nature,  remaining  faithful  to  the 
emperor's  memory,  while  stone,  marble,  and  bronze 
have  long  since  betrayed  their  trust. 

From  Hadrian's  villa  to  Tivoli  the  road  is  on  a  steep 
ascent,  and  passes  through  a  grove  of  olive-trees  some 
of  which  are  of  great  age.*  We  drove  to  the  hotel 

*  In  the  '  Artist's  and  Amateur's  Magazine '  is  a  series  of 
papers  called  '  A  Few  Years'  Residence  in  Italy.'  In  one  of 
these  is  a  graphic  description  of  the  olive,  which,  as  the  work 
in  which  it  appeared  is  little  known  will  be  almost  '  as  good 
as  manuscript.' 

'  On  arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  acclivity  it  was  necessary  to 
dismount ;  and  as  we  wound  round  and  crept  slowly  up  the 
beautiful  height  upon  which  Albano  stands,  my  companion 
whistling  to  the  horse,  chanting  to  >  himself,  and  shouting  to 
the  broad  blue  sky  over  our  heads,  smacking  the  whip  and 
sometimes  cutting  away  at  the  butterflies,  grasshoppers  of  a 
finger's  length,  and  the  lizards  of  all  colors,  I  was  for  the  first 
time  struck  with  the  peculiar  character,  variety  of  form,  and 
color  of  the  olive.  I  had  observed  them  in  abundance  at  Flor- 
ence, and  in  the  neighborhood  of  Rome,  but  I  had  not  seen  any 
like  those  which  lined  one  side  of  the  road  leading  to  this  pret- 
ty little  city. 

'  The  peculiar  character  of  the  trees  upon  this  spot  consists  in 
their  extremely  antique,  grotesque,  and  fantastic  character. 
Upon  first  sight  of  them,  the  shape  and  look  of  their  trunks  sug- 
gest the  idea  of  the  human  character.  A  number  of  strange 
forms  of  men  appear  before  you,  wearing  long  beards  and  gar- 
ments cut  in  the  fashion  of  other  ages.  Some  stand  in  bending 
postures,  or  rest  their  arms  upon  staffs,  or  other  supports  of  ao 


212  EXCURSION    TO   TIVOLI. 

which  bears  the  classic  name  of  La  Sibilla,  in  the 
grounds  of  which  are  the  remains  of  that  graceful  Co- 
rinthian temple  which  has  probably  sat  for  its  likeness 
more  often  than  any  building  on  earth.  Ten  of  the 

uncouth  form  ;  others  recline  upon  stony  or  verdant  couches, 
kneel  upon  the  ground,  or  are  grouped  in  pairs,  their  limbs 
oddly  joined,  and  their  position  and  action  indicative  of  some 
sentiment.  Sometimes  you  will  see  one  standing  in  the  midst 
of  others  with  the  action  of  an  orator  making  an  harangue, 
one  arm  put  forth  and  the  other  holding  or  hid  in  the  drapery, 
while  the  hearers  assume  different  characters  of  sentiment  and 
expression.  Then  again  you  will  see  pairs  of  venerable  peo- 
ple sitting  upon  the  earth  or  upon  green  banks,  deeply  engaged 
in  some  matter,  discussing  warmly,  or  sedately,  or  whispering 
confidentially.  The  color  of  their  trunks  very  much  assists 
the  imagination,  since  patches  of  moss  often  contribute  to  give 
character,  as  it  is  seen  upon  the  bare  naked  gray  of  the  formed 
and  deformed  masses. 

'  There  is  a  kind  of  supernatural  look  attending  a  grove  of 
olives  —  a  visionary,  uncertain  something  —  occasioned  by  the 
skeleton-like  and  half-human  shapes  of  the  long,  pendent,  bare 
twigs,  and  the  fantastically  bent  arms  and  branches  ;  and  this 
impression  is  very  much  strengthened  by  the  quality  of  the 
color,  and  the  prevailing  sobriety,  and  somewhat  melancholy 
tone  which  prevails.  The  thick  haze  of  leaves  and  twigs  tem- 
pers the  lightest  sunshine  ;  and  while  light  is  admitted,  it  is 
so  broken,  that  no  deep  or  abrupt  shadows  are  seen  or  bright 
patches  of  light  admitted.  Every  object  is  of  a  vague  and 
indistinct  character,  lit  by  a  mysterious  kind  of  illumination 
—  a  gray  mixture  of  light  and  darkness. 

'  An  olive  wood  must  have  suggested  to  Dante  the  idea  of  the 
souls  imprisoned  in  the  trunks  and  branches  of  the  trees  who 
suffered  and  lamented  when  they  were  broken  or  touched. 

'  It  is  said  of  this  singular  and  prolific  tree  that  a  full  crop  once 
in  ten  years  repays  the  farmer  for  all  the  care  and  pains  he 
bestows  upon  it,  and  that  it  will  live  a  thousand  years.  It 


EXCURSION    TO    TIVOLI.  213 

eighteen  columns  of  travertine  which  once  surrounded 
the  cell  are  still  remaining ;  and  these,  happily,  form 
an  unbroken  series,  and  are  turned  in  the  right  direc- 
tion. The  building,  when  perfect,  plaped  any  where, 

springs  up  spontaneously,  and  renews  itself  without  attention 
or  trouble,  and  is  found  in  all  the  rocky  elevations  in  the  coun- 
try, and  even  in  the  plains ;  although  in  the  wide  and  open 
pianura  of  the  Abruzzi  it  is  no  where  to  be  met  with.  It 
gives  a  peculiar  character  to  the  country  wherever  it  grows  ; 
its  soft,  feathery  foliage,  and  its  peculiar  color  contrast  strong- 
ly with  every  other  verdant  thing  about  it,  and  mixes  in  a 
graceful  and  harmonious  manner  with  the  forms  and  colors  of 
the  rock,  the  earth  and  the  vegetation  generally.  Nobody 
has  painted  the  olive.  Gaspar  Poussin,  who  lived  in  its  ten- 
der shadow,  was  ungrateful  to  it  and  never  bestowed  the  atten- 
tion upon  it  which  its  various  beauties  deserve.  Nobody  has 
represented  it  better,  but  he  has  not  done  it  justice.  In  some 
respects,  it  is  as  dark  as  the  cypress  ;  in  others,  it  is  a  sil- 
very plume  ;  in  some  states,  a  rich  golden  green,  vivacious 
and  effective  ;  in  others,  a  soft  leafy  shadow,  or  a  cloud  hover- 
ing over  the  side  of  the  mountain,  its  form  indefinite  and  its 
place  unfixed.  In  itself,  it  appears  to  know  no  change,  is 
always  green  and  flourishing,  and  ever  laden  with  its  fruit  — 
some  member  or  other  of  its  family.  You  may  strip  it  when 
you  will,  early  or  later,  or  if  you  leave  its  fruit  to  hang  until 
it  turn  black  as  jet,  which  it  does,  it  gives  out  a  flavor  of  a 
new  kind,  makes  the  purest  oil,  or  may  be  dried,  and  so  kept 
for  use.  When  it  has  stood  out  ages  of  productiveness,  has  be- 
come venerable,  and  shews  symptoms  of  having  been  touched 
by  time,  it  still  suggests  no  notion  of  decay,  for  its  freshness 
continues  ;  and  the  vigorous  shoots  that  spring  up  and  unite, 
and  add  their  strength  to  the  parent  stock,  promise  support 
and  duration  for  ever.  The  old  and  the  new  are  so  assimilated 
and  mixed  in  one  character,  that  the  changes  of  season  are 
never  seen  to  affect  it  The  young  leaf  of  the  coming  year 
pushes  gently  off  that  of  the  past,  while  the  new-born  blossoms 


214  EXCURSION    TO    TIVOLI. 

would  have  been  an  elegant  structure,  and  its  remains 
have  formed  a  most  satisfactory  ruin ;  but  no  fabric  of 
man's  hands  ever  owed  more  to  its  situation.  No 
architect  in  his  dreams  ever  dropped  a  building  upon  a 
more  appropriate  spot.  It  hangs  upon  the  gray  cliff 
which  it  crowns  as  gracefully  as  the  rose  hangs  upon 
its  stalk.  The  relation  between  the  temple  and  the 
rock  is  like  that  between  the  capital  and  the  shaft: 
each  seems  to  require  the  other  as  its  complement. 
Nature  and  art  never  worked  together  more  harmo- 
niously; and  to  call  the  combination  merely  pictur- 
esque is  to  do  it  injustice.  It  is  a  picture  which  re- 
quires nothing  to  be  added  to  or  taken  from  it  to  make 
it  perfect. 

Forsyth  has  truly  said,  that  '  Tivoli  cannot  be  de- 
scribed ;  no  true  portrait  of  it  exists ;  all  views  alter 
and  embellish  it ;  they  are  poetical  translations  of  the 
matchless  original.'  It  owes  its  most  striking  attrac- 
tions to  that  cause  which  is  so  efficient,  not  only  in  the 
creation  of  natural  beauty,  but  of  material  wealth  — 
the  sudden  passage  of  a  stream  of  water  from  one  level 
to  another ;  which,  in  our  country  has  given  us  Niag- 
ara and  Lowell,  Trenton  Falls  and  Rochester.  The 

play,  surround  and  hang  in  tender  companionship  with  the 
matured  fruit.  The  soil  appears  to  influence,  in  a  most  extraor- 
dinary manner,  this  singular  tree  ;  in  some  parts  it  grows  to 
the  height  and  magnitude  of  a  large  elm,  in  others  it  is  stunted 
to  a  massive  bush  ;  in  some  specimens  the  trunk  is  bulky  and 
the  branches  gnarled  and  thick  with  long  pendent  tresses  of 
slender  thin-leaved  twigs  j  in  others  its  character  is  a  slender 
shrub,  with  stems  and  branches  green,  and  yielding  kindly 
to  the  softest  breeze ;  but  in  every  state  it  is  abundantly 
prolific.' 


EXCURSION    TO    TIVOLI.  215 

river  Anio  or  Teverone,  flowing  through  the  lateral 
openings  of  mountain  ranges,  is  swollen  in  its  course 
by  several  smaller  streams,  and  approaches  Tivoli, 
where  the  highlands  come  to  a  full  stop  and  the  lines 
of  the  landscape  pass  by  sharp  angles  and  sudden  turns 
into  the  level  of  the  Campagna,  in  a  deep  and  rapid 
current.  In  its  haste  to  overleap  the  steeply  inclined 
plane  which  lies  between  its  upper  bed  and  the  calm 
sea  of  verdure  below,  it  breaks  into  a  variety  of  smaller 
streams  which  plunge  and  hurry  over  the  rocky  bar- 
riers, like  a  company  of  soldiers  who,  in  the  confusion 
of  a  retreat,  abandon  their  orderly  arrangement  and 
continuous  movement ;  each  individual  making  his  es- 
cape, as  best  he  may.  In  the  Campagna  below,  all 
the  broken  fragments  are  reunited;  and  the  river,  after 
a  tranquil  flow  of  a  few  miles,  empties  into  the  Tiber ; 
like  a  wild  youth  who,  after  a  short  course  of  tumult 
and  resistance,  subsides  into  a  sober  man  of  business. 
The  Anio,  like  the  Italian  rivers  generally,  is  a  mis- 
chievous stream,  liable  to  sudden  and  great  increase  ; 
thereby  causing  much  damage  to  the  works  of  man. 
To  prevent  this,  the  skill  of  engineering  has  bridled 
and  guided  its  wild  energy.  In  consequence  of  a  for- 
midable flood  which  took  place  in  1826,  a  new  tunnel 
was  cut  through  Monte  Catillo  for  the  principal  stream, 
which  had  previously  fallen  over  a  massive  wall,  built  by 
Sixtus  V.  into  the  Grotto  of  Neptune,  directly  below  the 
temple  of  the  Sybil.  This  grotto,  a  deep  cavernous  hol- 
low, once  the  spot  from  which  the  leaping  and  foaming 
waters  were  seen  to  the  greatest  advantage,  described 
by  a  thousand  travellers,  and  sketched  by  a  thousand 
artists,  has  lost  the  attractions  of  the  living  stream,  and 


216  EXCURSION   TO    TIVOLI. 

can  only  shew  its  deserted  bed.  But  it  is  well  worth 
visiting  to  see  the  marks  which  the  rending,  cutting, 
and  scooping  action  of  the  waters  has  left  upon  their 
rocky  channel  —  the  sharp  edges,  the  rounded  hollows, 
the  irregular  lines,  and  jagged  points  —  the  results  of 
passionate  elemental  conflict — all  in  the  heart  of  a  pop- 
ulous town,  and  accessible  by  an  artificial  path  which  a 
lady  might  trip  down  in  a  ball-dress  without  tearing  her 
satin  slippers.  A  rich  growth  of  shrubbery  blooms 
along  the  sides  of  the  cliffs,  the  lively  green  of  which 
stands  in  fine  contrast  with  the  dark  gray  rocks  below. 
Here,  too,  may  be  observed  the  successive  layers  of 
deposit  formed  by  the  calcareous  waters  of  the  Anio, 
similar  in  character  to  the  older  rock  from  which  its 
primitive  bed  was  hewn.  One  of  the  lions  of  the  place 
is  a  hollow  mould  in  the  travertine,  left  by  a  cart-wheel, 
the  spokes  and  circle  of  which  had  been  decomposed 
after  the  stony  covering  had  been  formed  around  them. 
From  the  same  region,  an  iron  crow-bar  has  been  ex- 
tracted from  the  solid  rock,  left  there  by  a  Roman  quar- 
ry-slave ;  or  perhaps  by  a  Sicanian  laborer  who  had 
been  gathered  to  his  fathers  before  Rome  was  founded. 
The  modern  tunnel,  through  which  the  main  current 
of  the  river  is  carried  off,  cut  along  the  flanks  of  a 
hill  opposite  to  the  Temple  of  the  Sibyl,  is  a  skilfully 
designed  and  admirably  constructed  work.  It  is  about 
a  thousand  feet  in  length,  and  has  two  parallel  beds  or 
troughs,  separated  by  a  narrow  spine  of  rock,  and  so 
contrived  that  the  water  may  be  shut  off  from  one  of 
them,  whenever  there  is  need  of  examination  and  re- 
pair. The  fall  of  water  from  the  edge  of  the  tunnel  is 
about  eighty  feet  in  height.  The  whole  effect  is  fine, 


EXCURSION    TO    TIVOLI.-  217 

in  spite  of  the  prosaic  element  of  artificial  ness.  A 
stream  of  pure  water  rushing  with  arrowy  swiftness 
over  an  inclined  floor  of  rock,  and  breaking  into  a 
snowy  sheet  of  foam,  has  an  essential  beauty  derived 
from  color,  form,  and  movement.  A  mass  of  clear 
water,  flowing  as  rapidly  as  is  possible  without  break- 
ing the  surface,  is  one  of  the  most  animating  of  natural 
objects ;  for  though  the  same  spectacle  is  revealed  to 
the  sight,  yet  the  ever-changing  particles  of  the  stream 
stir  the  mind  with  images  of  succession  and  variety, 
and  the  whole  is  an  illustration  of  the  course  of  history 
or  of  human  life,  a  uniform  web  woven  of  innumera- 
ble individual  experiences. 

Besides  this  main  channel,  there  are  several  lateral 
and  divergent  streams  which,  at  their  own  sportive 
will,  leap  over  the  rocks  in  sheets,  or  lines  of  foam, 
forming  a  succession  of  cascades  known  by  the  name 
of  Cascatelle.  Of  these,  the  finest  in  picturesque  effect 
are  those  which  flow  from  the  broken  arches  of  an 
immense  ruin  called  the  villa  of  Moscenas,  which,  if 
that  were  its  true  designation,  must  have  been  large 
enough  in  its  perfect  state  to  have  accommodated  a 
hundred  irritable  poets  and  kept  them  far  enough  apart 
to  prevent  the  possibility  of  a  quarrel.  The  dark  red 
brick  of  the  crumbling  ruin,  the  dazzling  white  of  the 
falling  water,  and  the  vivid  green  of  the  foliage  which 
clothes  the  slopes  of  the  hill  and  waves  from  the  roof 
of  the  villa,  produce  the  happiest  combinations  of  color, 
and  give  to  the  landscape  painter  a  subject  which  asks 
nothing  from  invention. 

The  above  remarks  comprise  rather  an  inventory 
than  a  description  of  Tivoli.  Verbal  accounts  or  even 


218  EXCURSION    TO    T1VOLI. 

pictorial  sketches  of  its  peculiar  scenery  are  to  the 
actual  vision,  what  the  score  of  an  opera  is  to  the 
performance.  Nor  is  this  illustration  so  purely  imagi- 
native as  it  may  seem ;  for  in  a  landscape  in  which 
water  forms  so  large  a  part,  sound  and  motion  are  im- 
portant elements  which  the  artist  can  never  reproduce. 
The  pen  or  the  pencil,  too,  may  grapple  successfully 
with  details  and  isolated  points,  but  neither  can  grasp 
the  magic  whole.  To  form  a  notion  of  Tivoli,  we  must 
imagine  streams  of  falling  water  in  all  the  forms  which 
it  can  assume,  leaping  into  hollows,  gliding  over  in- 
clined planes,  or  breaking  into  clouds  of  foam-dust, 
which  glow  with  a  thousand  iridescent  hues,  smiting 
the  eye  with  lines  and  points  of  metallic  brightness. 
These  streams  must  be  fringed  with  trees  and  shrubs 

—  compressed  between  walls  of  black  and  dripping 
rock  carved  and  worn  into  innumerable  fastastic  shapes 

—  and  distributed  all  along  the  slopes  of  a  rounded  and 
semicircular  hill ;  with  such  careful  attention  to  details 
as  if  nature  had  for  once  relaxed  her  stern  and  homely 
mood,  and  set  herself  to  work  to  compose  a  perfect 
picture.    Ruins  must  be  set  upon  the  very  points  where 
the  eye  asks  for  them.     A  general  landscape  of  the 
noblest  feature    must  be  added ;    including   a   grand 
mountainous  background,  a  wide  horizon,  and  a  broad 
plain  into  which,  as  into  a  sea  of  verdure,  the  jutting 
capes  and  headlands  of  the  hillside  project.     Touch 
the  heights  with  the  gray  mists  of  an  antiquity  five 
hundred  years  older  than  Rome,  and  throw  over  the 
whole  a  purple  light  drawn  from  the  poetry  of  Horace, 
Catullus,  and  Propertius  —  and   the  result  will   be  a 
dream  of  Tivoli. 


EXCURSION    TO    TIVOLI.  219 

In  the  after  part  of  the  day  we  paid  a  visit  to  the 
Villa  d'Este,  a  building  which,  from  its  formal  and 
elaborate  magnificence,  might  stand  as  a  representa- 
tive of  its  whole  class.  Vast  sums  of  money  were 
lavished  upon  its  waterworks,  its  terraces,  its  stiff*  plan- 
tations, and  its  broad  flights  of  steps.  It  is  now  unin- 
habited and  falling  to  decay;  but  the  garden  —  with 
its  pines,  cypresses,  and  avenues  of  box,  left  by  their 
unpruned  growth  to  form  an  'obsolete  prolixity  of 
shade'  —  still  retains  a  melancholy  charm ;  and  from 
the  casino  a  wide  and  lovely  landscape  is  commanded. 
I  am  almost  afraid  to  confess  all  the  admiration  I  feel 
for  these  stately  Italian  gardens — in  which  the  earth 
is  made  a  foundation  for  verdurous  architecture,  and 
walls  and  columns  are  hewn  from  the  living  green  — 
which,  with  their  vases,  statues,  and  smoothly -levelled 
floors,  are  like  magnificent  drawing-rooms  open  to  the 
sky.  The  Villa  d'  Este  seemed  to  be  in  an  easily 
reparable  state.  Why  has  not  English  wealth  and 
English  whim  invaded  a  spot  of  such  capabilities  with 
scythe,  hatchet,  and  paint-brush,  cleared  away  the  rub- 
bish, beautified  the  halls,  trimmed  the  shrubberies,  set 
the  fountains  playing,  and  made  the  whole  habitable 
and  uninteresting  ? 


CHAPTER  X. 


Remarks  on  the  Kural  Population  of  the  Papal  States  ;  especially  as  compared 
with  that  of  New  England. 


THE  various  towns  and  villages  upon  the  Alban 
Mount  contain  about  as  many  inhabitants  as  the  county 
of  Berkshire,  and  it  may  not  be  unprofitable  to  consider 
for  a  few  moments  thevpoints  of  resemblance  and  dif- 
ference between  them.  Such  a  comparison  will  also 
serve  to  illustrate  the  respective  conditions  of  the  agri- 
cultural population  of  the  south  of  Europe  and  of  New 
England,  generally. 

Between  any  two  portions  of  the  human  family  there 
are  essential  points  of  resemblance  and  identity.  There 
is  the  common  mystery  of  birth  and  of  death.  The 
heart  is  torn  by  the  same  passions,  and  the  moral  sense 
assailed  by  the  same  temptations.  The  motive  power 
is  substantially  similar,  though  external  influences  mod- 
ify the  course  and  direction  which  it  communicates. 
In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  necessity  of  earning  one's 
bread  is  the  controlling  impulse  of  life  ;  and  wherever 
this  operates,  it  acts  in  much  the  same  way  and  brings 
out  similar  qualities  of  mind  and  character.  Upon 
Berkshire  and  the  Alban  Mount  the  light  of  civiliza- 


POPULATION    OF    THE    ALBAN    MOUNT.  221 

tion  and  Christianity  alike  rests,  though  not  in  equal 
degree.  In  both,  the  shadow  of  human  life  is  traced 
upon  a  golden  ground  of  immortal  hope. 

But  when  we  descend  to  particulars,  the  points  of 
difference  are  numerous  and  important.  The  inhabit- 
ants of  the  Alban  Mount  are,  with  very  few  exceptions, 
exclusively  engaged  in  agricultural  pursuits.  Their 
whole  circle  of  occupation  begins  and  ends  with  the  soil 
on  which  they  tread.  There  are  no  manufacturing  es- 
tablishments at  all,  and  very  little  of  handicraft  occupa- 
tion of  any  kind.  The  few  articles  of  foreign  growth 
which  the  simple  wants  of  the  inhabitants  require  are 
mostly  supplied  from  Rome ;  so  that  there  are  very  few 
shopkeepers,  and  those  few  of  a  humble  class.  As  no 
new  houses  have  been  built  within  the  memory  of  man, 
there  is  but  a  limited  demand  for  mechanics.  There  are 
priests  and  physicans ;  but  of  the  legal  profession,  at 
least  in  its  higher  departments,  probably  none.  I  have 
no  means  of  ascertaining  the  population  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  Alban  Mount,  who  are  exclusively  engaged 
in  agricultural  pursuits.  Mrs.  Graham,  who  spent 
three  months  in  the  mountains  east  of  Rome,  in  the 
summer  of  1819,  and  has  published  an  interesting  ac- 
count of  her  experiences,  states,  that  in  Poll,  a  town  of 
thirteen  hundred  inhabitants  not  far  from  Tivoli,  in 
the  Sabine  hills,  the  only  handicraftsmen  were  a  car- 
penter, a  blacksmith,  a  shoemaker,  and  a  worker  in 
leather  for  agricultural  uses.  Probably  about  the  same 
proportion  of  mechanics  would  be  found  in  the  towns 
and  villages  of  the  Alban  Mount ;  the  rest  being  en- 
gaged in  some  department  of  agricultural  toil. 

When  we  come  to  look  at  the  relation  of  man  to  the 


222  POPULATION    OF   THE   ALBAN   MOUNT. 

soil  on  which  he  dwells,  there  is  also  a  marked  differ- 
ence. In  Berkshire,  every  farmer  owns  the  land  which 
he  tills,  and  most  men,  whatever  be  their  occupations, 
own  the  houses  in  which  they  dwell.  This  is  by  no 
means  the  case  upon  the  Alban  Mount.  Here  the  fee 
of  the  soil  belongs  to  some  of  the  great  families  of 
Rome,  or  to  some  monastic  establishment;  and  the  oc- 
cupants hold  it,  either  upon  leases  for  a  certain  time, 
paying  a  fixed  rent,  or  enjoy  a  sort  of  qualified  owner- 
ship, which  is  transmissible  and  inheritable,  on  pay- 
ment of  a  ground-rent,  like  the  tenants  of  the  Van 
Rensellaer  and  other  great  estates  in  New  York. 
These,  however,  form  the  exception  and  not  the  rule, 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  population  are  mere  day 
laborers,  whose  families  are  crowded  into  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  towns,  and  are  themselves  employed  by 
the  great  proprietors,  especially  the  mercanti  of  the 
Campagna,  in  labors  of  cultivation.  Those  who  enjoy 
the  usufruct  of  the  soil  sometimes  accumulate  proper- 
ty, though  their  prosperity  is  somewhat  dependant  upon 
the  liberality  and  patience  of  the  proprietors  of  whom 
they  hold,  for  the  rent  which  they  pay  is  by  no  means 
nominal.  Mrs.  Graham  states,  that  a  farmer  in  Poll 
who  cultivated  a  piece  of  land  belonging,  like  most  of 
the  town,  to  the  Duke  of  Sforza,  paid  by  way  of  quit- 
rent  a  fifth  of  all  the  corn,  and  a  fourth  of  all  the 
pulse,  wine,  oil,  &c.  raised  upon  it ;  and  she  adds,  that 
in  bad  years  this  was  hard  upon  the  cultivator. 

There  is  also  a  difference  in  the  employments  of  the 
female  part  of  the  population  in  the  two  regions  we  are 
comparing.  In  New  England,  no  woman  takes  part  in 
the  out-of-door  labors  of  husbandry,  except,  perhaps, 


POPULATION    OF    THE    ALBAN    MOUNT.  223 

occasionally  at  haying  time.  From  the  perfection  to 
which  manufacturing  machinery  has  been  carried,  and 
the  consequent  cheapness  of  clothing,  the  sound  of  the 
spinning-wheel  is  now  rarely  heard  in  a  New  England 
farm-house  ;  and  only  here  and  there,  in  some  secluded 
hamlet,  is  cloth  woven  for  domestic  consumption  by  the 
females  of  a  household.  But  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Rome,  as  in  Italy  generally,  the  female  part  of  the  pop- 
ulation share  to  a  considerable  extent  in  field  labors, 
especially  at  the  times  of  harvest  and  vintage  ;  and  in 
winter  they  ply  the  distaff  and  spindle  and  manufacture 
the  coarse  clothing,  both  woollen  and  linen,  worn  by 
their  families.  Were  a  scale  of  civilization  graduated 
by  the  amount  of  labor  done  by  women  —  putting  our 
North  American  Indians,  whose  women  do  all  the  work, 
at  the  zero  point  —  our  country  would  stand  at  the  top. 
We  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  the  general  considera- 
tion paid  to  women  among  us,  and  of  the  lighter  tasks 
assigned  to  her  in  the  common  struggle  for  subsistence. 
No  American  abroad  can  look  with  any  composure 
upon  a  woman  toiling  in  the  sun  with  a  hoe  or  a  sickle 
in  her  hand.  The  effect  of  these  out-of-door  labors  is 
fatal  to  the  grace  of  the  female  form  and  the  beauty  of 
the  female  face,  and  it  is  rare  to  find  a  good-looking 
woman  in  the  peasant  classes  of  Europe,  except  among 
the  young. 

When  we  pass  from  the  substantial  occupations  of 
life  to  its  amusements  and  entertainments,  we  find  that 
those  of  Berkshire  have  a  larger  proportion  of  the  intel- 
lectual element  in  them  and  are  more  addressed  to  the 
mind.  Every  house  has  at  least  a  shelf  or  a  closet  of 
books.  Every  head  of  a  family  takes  one  or  more 


224  POPULATION    OF    THE    ALBAN    MOUNT. 

newspapers,  and  reading  is  an  universal  resource.  All 
occasions,  too,  of  public  gathering  are  imperfect,  unless 
the  programme  of  the  entertainment  include  something 
for  the  mind,  in  the  shape  of  a  political  harangue,  an 
occasional  discourse,  or  a  literary  or  scientific  lecture. 
A  fourth  of  July  without  an  oration  would  be  the  play 
of  Hamlet  with  the  part  of  Hamlet  left  out.  A  public 
dinner  is  nothing  without  the  post-prandial  speeches. 
There  is  some  want  of  reflection  in  the  strain  of  remark 
which  we  frequently  hear  upon  the  incapacity  of  the 
people  of  New  England  for  amusement.  '  The  sports 
of  children  satisfy  the  child.'  The  grave  and  earnest 
character  of  our  rural  population  forbids  their  taking 
pleasure  in  many  forms  of  entertainment  which  excite 
and  gratify  the  prolonged  intellectual  childhood  of  the 
peasantry  of  Europe. 

The  amusements  of  the  people  of  the  Alban  Mount 
are  generally  unintellectual  in  their  character,  and  ad- 
dress themselves  to  the  senses.  Such  entertainments 
as  lectures,  discourses,  and  speeches  are  wholly  un- 
known. Sermons  and  religious  exhortations  are  mostly 
confined  to  the  season  of  Lent.  A  considerable  part  of 
their  stock  of  amusement  comes  from  a  source  which 
seems  odd  enough  to  a  New  England  man,  and  that  is 
the  church.  The  Romish  church,  which  providently 
employs  all  possible  means  for  holding  and  retaining 
influence  over  the  popular  mind,  takes  care  to  gratify 
the  national  taste  for  brilliant  spectacles.  Every  town 
and  village  has  one  or  more  saint's  days,  which  are 
celebrated  every  year,  and  attended  by  the  whole  pop- 
ulation of  the  neighboring  country.  They  take  a  local 
pride  in  these  festivals,  which  call  forth  a  strong  spirit 


AMUSEMENTS  OF  THE  ALBAN  MOUNT.      225 

of  emulation  ;  each  hamlet  striving  to  make  its  own 
celebration  the  gayest  and  most  attractive. 

A  popular  amusement  of  the  people  of  Albano  —  the 
running  at  the  bucket  —  is  thus  described  by  Mueller, 
a  clever  German  writer,  from  whom  I  have  before 
quoted.  Two  stout  posts,  about  nine  feet  high,  wound 
round  with  leaves,  are  set  up  in  the  middle  of  the  street 
about  three  feet  apart.  Upon  these  there  rests  a  round 
transverse  stick,  passing  through  the  two  handles  of  a 
bucket  or  tub,  which  swings  freely  below.  A  peasant 
by  the  aid  of  a  ladder  fills  the  bucket  with  water,  and 
dipping  a  piece  of  white  paper  with  a  black  line  upon 
it  into  the  water,  he  sticks  it  on  the  side  of  the  bucket. 
The  persons  who  take  part  in  the  sport  are  mounted 
upon  donkeys,  and  armed  with  stout  staves  pointed  at 
the  end  with  iron.  The  object  of  the  game  is  to  urge 
their  beasts  between  the  posts,  and  to  hit  the  paper  with 
the  point  of  their  staves  —  continuing  their  course  so 
that  the  contents  of  the  overturned  bucket  shall  fall 
upon  the  ground  behind  them,  or  at  least  upon  the 
haunches  of  the  donkey.  But  to  do  all  this  requires 
skill  and  luck,  and  is  rarely  achieved.  The  rider  must 
not  only  aim  right,  but  at  the  same  time  manage  his 
not  very  docile  steed  in  such  a  way  as  to  second  his 
purpose.  In  general,  they  contrive  to  hit  the  mark,  but 
are  not  quick  enough  to  escape  the  water.  This  is  a 
modified  form  of  success,  but  shouts  of  laughter  greet 
the  unlucky  tilter  who  fails  to  strike  the  paper  but  suc- 
ceeds in  getting  a  ducking. 

Another  amusement  described  by  Castellan,  the 
French  traveller,  may  be  cited  as  characteristic  of  the 
tastes  of  the  rural  population  near  Rome,  though  he 

VOL.  II.  15 


226  AMUSEMENTS    OF    THE    ALBAN    MOUNT. 

witnessed  it  at  Tivoli,  and  not  upon  the  Alban  Mount. 
It  is  a  coarse  kind  of  blindman's-buff,  except  that  the 
players  strive  to  catch  a  pig  and  not  one  another.  A 
number  of  persons  are  wholly  enveloped  in  sacks  of 
thick  linen  cloth,  which  are  gathered  over  the  head  and 
tied  in  such  a  way  as  to  form  a  sort  of  pad  or  cushion. 
These  prevent  the  wearers  not  only  from  seeing  but 
from  running,  and  they  are  obliged  to  make  progress 
by  uncouth  leaps.  Holes  are  left  for  the  arms  to  pass 
through,  and  each  person  holds  a  stick  or  club  in  his 
hand.  When  ready,  these  prisoners  in  sacks  are  ar- 
ranged in  a  circle,  and  a  pig,  with  a  bell  round  his 
neck,  is  put  into  the  centre.  At  this  signal,  every  man 
darts  forward  and  moves  in  the  direction  of  the  bell ; 
but  at  the  first  impulse,  half  of  them  fall  down.  They 
tumble  over  each  other,  and  in  the  confusion  give  and 
receive  heavy  blows.  The  pig  is  the  prize  of  the  per- 
son who  first  holds  him  in  a  firm  grasp,  or  knocks  him 
down  with  a  stick.  The  poor  animal,  frantic  with  ter- 
ror, rushes  about  among  the  sacks,  and  easily  throws 
down  the  wearers  by  an  unexpected  shock  ;  but  his 
efforts  to  escape  are  frustrated  by  the  outer  circle  of 
spectators,  who  drive  him  back,  until  the  sport  is  closed 
by  a  lucky  grasp  or  blow.  The  laughable  effects  and 
combinations  of  such  a  scene  may  easily  be  conceived. 
It  is  usual  for  the  successful  player  to  invite  his  com- 
petitors to  an  entertainment,  at  which  the  pig  appears 
as  the  principal  dish. 

Neither  of  these  sports  is  cruel  or  degrading,  but 
they  shew  a  very  unripe  and  boyish  taste.  A  popula- 
tion of  any  manly  maturity  of  mind  and  character,  like 
even  the  peasantry  of  the  Tyrol,  for  instance,  could 


AMUSEMENTS    OF    THE    ALBAN    MOUNT.  227 

never  be  brought  to  take  any  pleasure  in  either.  It 
would  surely  be  better  for  our  people  to  have  no  taste 
at  all  for  amusements,  than  to  find  satisfaction  in  such 
rough  horse-play. 

The  industrious  habits  of  the  people  of  New  England 
make  the  hours  of  daylight  too  valuable  to  be  spent  in 
frolic,  except  on  rare  occasions.  Thus  our  amuse- 
ments are,  as  a  general  rule,  thrown  into  the  evening. 
But  just  the  reverse  is  the  case  upon  the  Alban  Mount. 
Dancing,  for  instance,  in  some  form  or  other,  is  a  gen- 
eral pastime  of  the  whole  human  family.  We  select, 
for  that  object,  a  winter  evening  and  a  well-lighted 
apartment,  and  add  the  accessaries  of  an  entertainment 
and  the  best  music  that  can  be  had.  But  there  the 
young  men  and  women  go  out  on  a  summer  afternoon, 
and  dance  hour  after  hour  under  a  tree  —  usually  not 
more  than  one  or  two  couples  at  a  time  —  and  to  no 
other  music  than  the  sound  of  a  tamborine.  We  value 
dancing  not  so  much  for  itself  as  for  the  exhilarating 
glow  which  it  diffuses,  and  the  gayer  tone  of  conversa- 
tion to  which  it  leads  ;  but  the  Roman  peasantry  enjoy 
it  for  its  own  sake.  They  find  pleasure  in  its  mere 
movement,  as  children  do  in  running  about  and  playing. 
Here  it  may  be  remarked,  that  our  fashion  of  allowing 
young  persons  of  different  sexes  to  form  parties  together 
for  amusement,  without  the  parents,  is  not  at  all  sanc- 
tioned by  the  customs  of  Italy,  or  indeed  of  Europe 
generally. 

Of  intellectual  life,  as  we  understand  the  word, 
there  is  not  much  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  Alban 
Mount.  Newspapers  are  rarely  seen  —  which  indeed 
is  no  great  loss,  for  the  journals  printed  at  Rome  under 


228  EDUCATION. 

an  ecclesiastical  censorship,  are  without  life  or  interest 
—  and  literature  and  politics  rarely  form  topics  of  con- 
versation. The  means  of  obtaining  a  certain  amount 
of  education  are  more  generally  diffused  in  the  Papal 
states  than  is  commonly  supposed.  The  priests  shew 
a  laudable  zeal  in  giving  the  rudiments  of  knowledge 
to  the  young  people  under  their  charge,  and  there  are 
in  many  places  charity  schools  founded,  at  periods 
more  or  less  remote,  by  benevolent  persons.  In  most 
of  the  towns  and  villages  there  are  public  schools  also, 
in  which  elementary  instruction  is  given.  There  are 
probably  not  many  parents  so  situated  as  not  to  be  able 
to  procure  for  their  children  the  knowledge  of  reading 
and  writing  at  least,  by  a  little  effort  and  a  little  sacri- 
fice. The  will  is  doubtless  more  wanting  than  the  op- 
portunity, but  the  quality  and  character  of  the  education 
would  not  be  deemed  high,  at  least  by  a  Protestant 
judgment.  Here  again  I  recur  to  the  authority  of  Mrs. 
Graham.  There  was  at  Poli  a  charity  school,  founded 
some  centuries  ago  by  a  lady  of  the  Conti  family,  open 
to  all  the  children  of  the  place.  The  boys  were  taught 
reading,  writing,  and  Latin  and  Italian  grammar,  but 
no  arithmetic  ;  the  girls,  reading,  sewing,  spinning, 
and  knitting.  Religious  instruction  formed  a  large 
part  of  the  whole.  The  Italian  authors  read  were 
exclusively  religious.  '  A  short  catechism,  the  Chris- 
tian doctrine  of  Bellarmine,  a  history  of  the  Bible,  but 
not  a  chapter  unprepared,  and  the  lives  of  the  saints, 
complete  the  studies  of  the  school  of  Poli,  and  probably 
those  of  most  of  the  free  schools  in  Italy.'  The  Italian 
Santa  Croce  or  Christ's-cross-row  taught  in  the  school 
at  Poli,  contained  prayers  in  Latin  and  Italian,  a  short 


POPULAR    LITERATURE.  229 

catechism,  and  a  mutilated  form  of  the  decalogue  ;  for 
the  second  commandment  was  omitted,  and  the  tenth 
divided  into  two,  so  as  to  make  the  number  of  ten. 
How  the  ecclesiastics  who  published,  and  those  who 
taught  this  edition  of  the  commandments,  could  recon- 
cile such  a  form  of  untruth  to  their  consciences,  may  be 
left  to  some  skilful  casuist  to  settle.  An  Italian  peasant 
might  well  be  puzzled  with  the  injunction  against  image 
worship  contained  in  the  second  commandment,  when 
compared  with  the  practice  of  the  church. 

The  rural  population  of  the  Papal  states  are  by 
no  means  without  a  taste  for  reading,  but  the  direc- 
tion in  which  that  taste  moves  marks  a  difference  be- 
tween them  and  the  people  of  New  England.  Here 
we  have  no  such  thing  as  a  popular  literature,  address- 
ing itself  to  a  certain  class  exclusively,  and  found  only 
among  them.  In  our  country  towns,  the  clergyman 
and  his  parishioners,  the  doctor  and  his  patients,  the 
lawyer  and  his  clients,  all  read  the  same  books,  and 
draw  from  them  common  topics  of  interest  and  discus- 
sion. A  fair  proportion' also  of  the  books  read  in  New 
England  farm-houses  are  works  appealing  to  the  reason 
and  understanding  ;  historical  works  ;  works  in  which 
questions  in  religion,  politics,  social  economy,  and  edu- 
cation are  treated  ;  besides  the  great  variety  of  miscel- 
laneous subjects  embraced  in  reviews  and  magazines. 
But  in  Italy,  and  indeed  in  many  other  parts  of  Europe, 
we  find  a  popular  literature  so  called  —  a  class  of  books 
circulating  among  the  rural  population  and  the  lower 
orders  of  the  towns,  cheaply  printed  on  coarse  paper, 
and  generally  written  in  some  local  dialect.  These 
books  are  not  found  in  the  scholar's  library,  unless  col- 


230  POPULAR    LITERATURE. 

lected  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  though  some  of  them 
were  written  by  educated  men  ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand, 
are  the  books  which  scholars  read  and  rich  men  buy 
found  in  the  peasant's  cottage.  The  popular  literature 
is  exclusively  poetical  in  its  spirit,  and  generally  takes 
the  form  of  verse.  The  whole  peninsula  is  very  rich 
in  works  of  this  class,  and  a  man  of  taste  and  industry 
might,  with  no  great  pains,  collect  materials  for  an  in- 
teresting book  about  them.  The  lively  organization 
and  excitable  temperament  of  the  Italians,  and  the 
abundant  leisure,  voluntary  or  enforced,  which  so  many 
of  them  enjoy,  make  them  take  great  delight  in  hearing 
romantic  or  humorous  adventures,  in  prose  or  verse  — 
especially  the  latter  —  read  or  recited.  A  person 
whose  memory  is  stored  with  resources  of  this  kind,  is 
a  welcome  guest  in  every  peasant's  cottage,  and  he 
who  is  so  fortunate  as  to  possess  a  rude  gift  of  impro- 
visation —  which  is  by  no  means  uncommon  among  the 
lower  classes  —  is  followed  and  listened  to  as  a  popular 
speaker  is  with  us.  As  this  class  of  literature  springs 
spontaneously  from  the  common  heart,  it  has  fixed  lo- 
calities, like  indigenous  plants.  Venice,  Milan,  Flor- 
ence, Naples,  Sicily,  have  songs,  ballads,  and  narrative 
poems  peculiar  to  themselves,  though  some  of  these 
have  merit  enough  to  overleap  provincial  barriers  and 
become  general  favorites. 

Rome,  too,  is  the  centre  of  a  popular  literature  which 
circulates  extensively  throughout  the  neighborhood.  Its 
productions  are  numerous,  and  divided  into  several 
classes.  The  oldest  among  them  are  stories  from  the 
romances  of  chivalry,  most  of  them  drawn  from  the 


POPULAR    LITERATURE.  231 

two  great  fountain-heads  of  romantic  literature,  King 
Arthur  and  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  and  Char- 
lemagne. Ancient  mythology  and  history  furnish  the 
materials  for  another  division,  with  which  the  legends 
of  saints  are  sometimes  strangely  intermingled  ;  and 
moral  and  religious  subjects,  and  the  adventures  and 
miracles  of  holy  men,  are  also  a  fruitful  source  of  pop- 
ular reading. 

No  books  are  more  eagerly  devoured  by  the  people 
of  Rome  and  its  neighborhood  than  stories  of  bandits, 
outlaws,  and  robbers.  Indeed,  the  general  heart  of 
mankind  seems  to  keep  a  corner  of  sympathy  for 
offenders  of  this  class ;  partly  from  admiration  of 
their  courage,  and  partly  because  they  are  supposed  to 
spare  the  poor  and  strip  the  rich.  These  books,  in 
general,  have  little  of  invention  or  literary  merit  of 
any  kind  ;  nor  are  they  relieved  by  that  vein  of  hu- 
mor which  runs  through  the  exploits  of  the  English 
Robin  Hood.  They  are,  for  the  most  part,  made  up 
of  horrors  and  atrocities  :  teaching  by  inference  the 
mischievous  doctrine,  that  a  life  of  crime  and  vio- 
lence may  be  expiated  by  certain  formal  acts  of 
devotion  —  especially  if  crowned  by  a  death-bed  re- 
pentance. 

The  Romans  have  also  a  number  of  satirical  and 
humorous  poems,  written  in  their  own  local  dialect, 
marked  by  a  rich  though  coarse  vein  of  humor,  and 
reflecting  the  manners  and  characteristics  of  the  com- 
mon people  with  great  fidelity.  In  Rome,  and  indeed 
throughout  Italy,  books  recording  the  lives  and  sayings 
of  famous  jesters,  are  great  favorites  with  the  lower 


232  POPULAR   LITERATURE. 

orders.  Some  of  these  are  in  prose  and  some  in 
verse.* 

Besides  the  above,  there  are  to  be  found  in  the  Papal 
states  a  great  number  of  poems  which  are  miscellaneous 
in  their  character,  and  not  to  be  ranked  under  any 
particular  class.  Among  them  are  tales  in  verse  of 
pure  invention,  political  and  satirical  ballads,  versified 
proverbs  and  moral  sayings,  fables,  and  especially 
love-poems,  which  are  more  characterized  by  fire  and 
passion  than  by  tenderness  or  sentiment.  The  Italian 
language  runs  easily  into  the  mould  of  verse.  Every 
event  in  life  which  assumes  the  least  consequence  —  a 
birth,  wedding,  or  death  in  a  noble  family  —  a  nun's 
taking  the  veil  —  the  arrival  of  a  distinguished  stranger 
—  a  literary  or  scientific  meeting  —  produces  a  luxu- 
riant crop  of  sonnets  and  occasional  verses,  which  pass 
away  and  are  forgotten  like  the  flowers  which  decorate 
a  ball-room.  This  '  fatal  facility  '  of  verse-making  is 
also  quite  common  among  the  lower  orders,  and  every 
rural  neighborhood  has  its  own  indigenous  growth  of 
songs  and  ballads.  The  serenading  lover  that  sings 
another's  verses  intersperses  them  with  his  own.  The 
wandering  minstrel  or  improvisatore  that  recites  passa- 
ges from  Tasso  or  Pulci  pieces  out  the  defects  of  his 
memory  with  his  own  ready  invention.  Every  where 
the  voice  breaks  naturally  into  song,  and  every  where 
the  air  vibrates  to  the  touch  of  rhythm  and  measure. 

Many  of  the  tales  in  verse  which  are  purely  fictitious 


*  A  good  account  of  the  popular  literature  of  the  Romans, 
with  extracts,  maybe  found  in  the  appendix  to  Mrs.  Graham's 
•work  above  mentioned. 


VERBAL    MEMORY.  233 

are  of  Eastern  origin,  for  the  wild  and  wondrous  char- 
acter of  Eastern  romance  suits  the  taste  of  the  common 
people  in  Italy.  They  have  no  liking  for  dark  and  su- 
pernatural terrors  which  make  the  flesh  creep.  Their 
facile  and  impressible  nature  demands  gay,,  airy,  and 
smiling  fancies.  The  shapes  and  conceptions  of  Gothic 
fiction  —  the  sheeted  ghost  gliding  from  the  church- 
yard—  the  midnight  bell  struck  by  airy  hands — the 
groan  mingling  with  the  wind  that  sweeps  through  the 
aisles  of  a  ruined  chapel  —  the  damp  vault,  and  the 
bloody  shroud  —  have  no  charm  for  these  children  of 
the  sun.  The  gloomy  and  spectral  shadows  which  flit 
through  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  Italian  romances,  are  of  North- 
ern, not  Italian  origin. 

Resuming  the  parallel  between  the  rural  population 
of  the  Alban  Mount  and  that  of  New  England,  we  find 
that  in  one  intellectual  power,  that  of  verbal  memory, 
the  former  have  the  superiority.  A  people  of  indoor 
habits  and  bookish  tastes  know  little  practically  of  the 
extent  to  which  the  memory  may  be  trained.  There 
is  a  striking  passage  from  Plato's  Phcedrus,  quoted  in 
Lieber's  Reminiscences  of  Niebuhr,  as  to  the  injurious 
effect  of  the  invention  of  letters  upon  this  faculty.  The 
invention  of  printing  tends  further  in  the  same  direction. 
To  learn  what  the  memory  can  retain,  we  must  go 
among  the  unlettered  peasantry  of  Europe.  We  know 
how  many  of  the  Scotch  and  English  ballads  have  been 
handed  down  from  lip  to  lip,  often  through  several  gen- 
erations, and  taken  down  for  the  press  at  last  from  the 
recitation  of  persons  who  could  neither  read  nor  write. 
Were  a  man  of  letters,  with  the  tastes  and  the  ener- 
getic perseverance  of  Scott  or  Hogg,  to  make  a  ballad 


234  POLITICAL    POWER. 

foray  into  the  mountains  near  Rome,  he  might  gather 
materials  from  the  memory  of  peasant  men  and  women 
for  more  volumes  of  popular  poetry  than  publishers 
would  print  or  the  public  buy.  Mueller  relates  that  a 
friend  of  his,  who  lodged  at  L'Aricia,  collected  several 
hundred  short  poems,  mostly  Ritornelle,*  from  the  lips 
of  the  various  members  of  his  hostess's  family. 

The  two  controlling  relations  of  man's  life  are  his 
relations  to  the  soil  and  his  relations  to  the  state.  A 
comparison  between  a  county  in  Massachusetts  and  the 
Alban  Mount,  in  regard  to  the  former,  has  been  briefly 
made,  and  the  superiority  which  we  enjoy  in  having  so 
large  a  body  of  independent  proprietors,  cultivating 
their  own  lands,  adverted  to.  Nor  is  our  own  advan- 
tage less,  when  we  look  at  the  relations  between  man 
and  the  state.  In  Berkshire,  every  man  of  the  age  of 
twenty-one  years  not  only  has  a  voice  and  a  vote  in 
town  affairs,  but  feels  himself  to  be  a  citizen  of  the 
state  and  of  the  common  country.  He  is  a  part,  small 
indeed,  but  still  distinctly  recognizable,  in  a  vast  sys- 
tem. The  wave  of  impulse  which  proceeds  from  his 
solitary  vote  is  prolonged  till  it  reaches  to  Boston  or 
Washington.  Let  a  man  of  great  political  ability  start 
up  in  the  smallest  village,  he  cannot  live  to  the  age  of 
thirty  without  having  had  opportunity  to  shew  his  pow- 
ers, or  without  entering  upon  a  career  which  may  lead 
to  the  highest  honor  and  the  widest  influence.  This 
consciousness  of  political  power  —  this  sense  of  being 

*  Eitornelle  are  short  poems  of  three  lines,  sometimes  with 
rhymes,  but  oftener  with  assonances.  The  first  line  is  some- 
times shorter  than  the  last  two.  Most  of  them  are  expressions 
of  the  passion  of  love. 


ORGANIZATION    OF   TOWNS.  235 

a  unit  in  a  mighty  aggregate  of  force  —  broods  over 
the  mind  and  characterto  an  extent  which  we  cannot 
measure  till  we  have  been  where  it  does  not  exist.  It 
moulds  the  countenance,  modulates  the  voice,  and 
governs  the  gait  and  gesture. 

But  upon  the  peasant  of  the  Alban  Mount  there  rest 
none  of  these  ennobling  cares,  these  educating  respon- 
sibilities. He  has  no  political  influence,  and  not  the 
least  voice  in  shaping  or  modifying  the  system  of  which 
he  forms  a  part.  He  is  a  mere  passenger  in  the  ship 
of  state.  It  is  true  that  the  principle  of  centralization 
is  not  pushed  so  far  in  the  Papal  states  as  in  some 
other  parts  of  Europe,  and  that  municipal  indepen- 
dence is  recognized  within  certain  limits.  There  is  a 
division  into  provinces,  districts,  and  communes ;  the 
districts  corresponding  to  our  counties,  and  the  com- 
munes, to  our  towns.  The  communes  have  a  muni- 
cipal government  something  like  that  of  our  cities. 
There  is  a  chief  magistrate  —  a  gonfaloniere  —  like 
our  mayor ;  a  board  of  anziani,  varying  in  number 
from  three  to  nine,  like  our  aldermen  ;  and  a  body  of 
councillors  or  deputies,  from  eighteen  to  forty-eight  in 
number,  according  to  the  size  of  the  commune,  corres- 
ponding to  our  common  councilmen.  But  none  of 
these  are  chosen  by  popular  vote.  The  councillors, 
originally  named  by  the  Pope,  fill  their  own  vacan- 
cies; *  and  the  anziani  are  selected  by  the  delegate  of 
the  province  from  a  list  furnished  by  the  councillors. 
Two  thirds  of  the  councillors  must  consist  of  land- 

*  This  system  rests  upon  a  law  of  Pius  VII.  dated  July  6, 
1816. 


236  GENERAL    CHARACTERISTICS. 

owners ;  and  the  other  third  of  literary  men,  mer- 
chants, and  tradesmen.  Thus,  the  greater  part  of  the 
inhabitants  are  excluded  from  any  share  even  in  the 
municipal  administration  of  their  own  towns  or  vil- 
lages, and  no  one  has  any  voice  in  the  central  govern- 
ment at  Rome. 

Without  attempting  to  extend  the  above  superficial 
comparison  into  the  region  of  morals  and  religion, 
which  would  require  a  much  more  minute  knowledge 
of  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  rural  population  of  Italy 
than  any  hasty  traveller  can  acquire,  I  may  venture  to 
make  a  few  remarks  upon  their  character,  founded 
upon  what  I  have  seen,  heard,  and  read,  which  shall 
have  the  merit  at  least  of  being  free  from  prejudice. 

It  may  be  observed  at  the  outset  that  there  is  one  pe- 
culiarity noticeable  here,  which  seems  strange  to  us  — 
that  the  inhabitants  of  places  near  to  each  other  have, 
or  are  reputed  to  have,  essentially  different  qualities. 
Thus,  the  people  of  Frascati  and  Albaao  stand  higher 
on  the  scale  of  good  morals  and  good  manners  than 
those  of  Tivoli  and  Marino.  Almost  every  town  and 
village  has  its  own  character  and  reputation,  which 
are  matters  of  common  notoriety  in  the  neighborhood. 
The  limitation  of  these  local  traits  is  explained  by  the 
fact,  that  the  rural  population  of  Italy  is  for  the  most 
part  stationary,  and  that  men  usually  end  their  days  on 
the  spot  where  they  were  born,  and  thus  the  habits 
and  tastes  of  one  generation  are  transmitted  to  that 
which  comes  after  it,  without  any  foreign  infusion. 

Looking  at  general  characteristics,  without  regard  to 
local  peculiarities,  we  find  among  them  a  large  share 
of  those  engaging  qualities  which  are  the  indigenous 


GENERAL   CHARACTERISTICS.  237 

growth  of  the  heart,  but  few  of  those  virtues  which  are 
the  result  of  culture  and  training.  They  are  rich  in  the 
various  modifications  and  manifestations  of  sympathy, 
but  poor  in  the  products  of  principle.  Their  nature  is 
easy  and  enjoyable.  They  are  amiable,  vivacious, 
and  good-natured,  with  a  natural  gentleness  and  cour- 
tesy of  manner,  quick  perceptions,  and  an  instinctive 
tact.  Family  affection  is  strong  with  them,  and  family 
quarrels  are  rare.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  pas- 
sionate and  vindictive  ;  sudden  in  quarrel  and  prompt 
in  the  use  of  the  knife,  and  never  forgetting  a  real  or 
fancied  wrong.  They  have  not  the  courage  to  speak 
the  truth  if  it  costs  them  any  sacrifice,  or  will  be  pro- 
ductive of  pain  to  the  person  whom  they  are  address- 
ing. Their  lively  fancy  makes  them  boastful,  and 
their  keen  enjoyment  of  life  makes  them  cowardly, 
except  under  strong  excitement  or  provocation.  They 
are  credulous  and  extremely  superstitious.  In  regard 
to  industry*  they  are  no  better  and  no  worse  than 
the  generality  of  mankind,  after  making  fair  allow- 
ance for  the  debilitating  heat  of  the  climate  in  summer. 
With  motive,  and  when  roused  by  the  breath  of  hope, 
they  will  work  well ;  otherwise  not.  They  are  not 
provident  or  thoughtful  for  the  future,  but  enjoy  the 
present  with  a  childlike  indifference  as  to  what  the 
morrow  may  bring  forth. 

In  regard  to  temperance,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
the  inhabitants  of  Southern  Italy,  and  of  the  wine- 
growing countries  generally,  enjoy  a  reputation  some- 
what beyond  their  deserts.  It  is  true  that  it  is  very 
rare  to  see  a  man  absolutely  drunk ;  but  it  is  not  un- 
common to  see  those  who  have  drank  more  than  is 


238  USE    OF    WINE. 

good  for  them.  But  even  where  excess  is  avoided, 
the  constant  use  of  wine  in  considerable  quantities  is 
unfavorable  both  to  health  and  good  morals ;  to  health, 
from  the  febrile  and  inflammatory  state  of  the  system 
to  which  it  leads,  and  to  good  morals,  from  the  irrita- 
bility of  temper  and  quarrelsome  spirit  which  it  in- 
duces. If  the  proportion  of  the  cases  of  stabbing 
brought  to  the  Roman  hospitals  which  occur  in  or 
near  wine-shops  could  be  known,  I  have  no  question 
that  it  would  furnish  a  strong  fact  wherewith  to  point 
the  exhortations  of  a  temperance  lecturer.  There  is 
an  added  temptation  to  drink  abundantly  of  wine,  from 
the  nature  of  the  usual  food  of  the  common  people. 
This,  being  principally  vegetable,  does  not,  especially 
in  cold  weather,  supply  the  waste  of  nervous  energy, 
but  leaves,  even  when  the  appetite  is  satisfied,  a  cer- 
tain dull  and  indefinable  craving,  like  being  filled  but 
not  fed.  Wine  relieves  this  sense  of  flatness  and  inert- 
ness by  the  momentary  glow  and  fillip  it  gives  to  the 
languid  blood ;  but  the  relief  thus  derived  is  like  the 
heat  of  a  fire  of  thorns,  and  there  is  thus  constant 
inducement  to  repeat  and  increase  the  remedy.  If 
the  common  people  of  Rome  and  its  neighborhood 
could  eat  more  meat  and  would  drink  less  wine,  there 
is  little  question  that  their  health  and  morals  would  be 
the  better  for  the  change. 

In  handiness  and  management,  in  labor-saving  con- 
trivances, in  the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  in  econo- 
my of  time  and  labor,  these  people  are  lamentably, 
ludicrously  deficient.  The  philosopher  who  defined 
man  to  be  a  tool-making  animal  did  not  make  his  obser- 
vations upon  the  Alban  or  Sabine  hills.  Every  irnple- 


HOUSEHOLD   UTENSILS.  239 

ment  and  instrument  which  comes  to  help  the  hand  of 
man  is  of  the  rudest  and  most  primitive  kind.  Their 
ploughs  and  carts  would  be  taken  by  a  Yankee  farmer 
to  be  the  fossil  remains  of  an  antediluvian  age.  It  is 
the  same  with  domestic  furniture  and  household  uten- 
sils. Each  generation  receives  what  is  handed  down 
from  its  predecessor,  and  in  its  turn  transmits  it  to  its 
successor,  without  question  and  without  improvement. 
No  man  ever  thinks  of  contriving  a  labor-saving  expe- 
dient, or  of  opening  a  short  cut  to  any  desired  object. 
Flax  is  spun  upon  the  primitive  distaff,  and  woven  by 
a  clumsy  hand-loom,  very  much  as  in  the  days  of  the 
chaste  Lucretia  ;  and  water  is  toilsomely  brought  home 
from  the  spring,  in  copper  vessels,  upon  the  heads  of 
women.  Graceful  as  is  the  appearance  of  these  mov- 
ing caryatides,  and  suggestive  as  the  sight  is  of  class- 
ical and  oriental  associations,  one  would  gladly  forego 
it,  if  these  poor  women  could  be  relieved  by  the  aid 
of  a  pump  or  a  leaden  pipe.  The  habit  of  laying 
aside  a  portion  of  their  earnings  as  a  provision  against 
a  rainy  day,  is  not  common  among  these  careless  peo- 
ple ;  and  where  there  are  no  savings  banks,  there  is 
little  inducement  to  a  peasant,  who  is  not  so  fortunate 
as  to  own  a  piece  of  land,  to  take  the  trouble,  and  run 
the  risk  of  investing  his  small  savings.  They  are  fond 
of  dressing  gaily,  and  their  holiday  costume,  which 
however  lasts  a  lifetime  or  even  longer,  is  often  quite 
expensive,  and  adorned  with  ornaments  of  gold  and 
silver,  of  homely  workmanship,  but  always  of  the 
finest  quality.  • 

A  great  deal  of  money  is  wasted  by  the  middle  and 
lower  class  all  over  Italy,  both  urban  and  rural,  in  lot- 


240  LOTTERIES. 

*  teries  ;  a  form  of  gaming  which,  to  their  disgrace  be  it 
spoken,  nearly  every  government  encourages  and  up- 
holds. The  Papal  treasury  derives  an  income  of  more 
than  a  million  of  dollars  a  year  from  this  demoralizing 
source.  This  form  of  gambling  is  an  universal  passion 
among  the  rural  population  of  the  mountains  near 
Rome,  as  well  as  in  the  metropolis  itself ;  and,  unhap- 
pily, as  a  general  rule,  the  poorer  a  man  is,  the  more 
eagerly  he  engages  in  this  mischievous  excitement,  and 
the  more  money  he  wastes  in  it  in  proportion  to  his 
whole  means.  The  tickets  are  divided  into  very  small 
portions,  and  for  a  shilling  or  two  a  poor  man  may  try 
his  luck  and  put  himself  on  the  uneasy  rack  of  expec- 
tation. The  system  of  drawing  is  very  complicated, 
and  the  prizes  are  determined  by  a  combination  of 
three  numbers.  The  holder  of  one  draws  a  small 
prize  ;  of  two,  a  much  greater ;  of  three,  many  hun- 
dred times  larger.*  In  selecting  the  numbers  to  ven- 

*  '  The  lottery  offices  are  distributed  in  every  part  of  the  cap- 
ital and  in  the  provincial  towns.  Supposing  I  enter  an  office 
and  stake  a  shilling  upon  Nos.  6,  14,  21,  32,  47,  this  is  called 
playing  a  quinterno,  and  should  these  five  numbers  win,  I 
should  win  a  very  large  sum,  the  exact  scale  of  which  I  do  not 
remember,  but  something  like  five  thousand  shillings.  A  sum 
staked  upon  three  numbers  is  called  a  terno,  upon  two,  an 
ambo,  upon  one,  an  estratto.  If,  upon  playing  a  quinterno,  I 
choose  to  reserve  the  advantage  of  winning  something  if  only 
one,  two,  three  or  four  out  of  the  five  numbers  be  drawn,!  win 
proportionately  less  than  if  I  had  bet  upon  the  whole  five  only. 
The  same  refers  to  playing  terni  and  ambi.  If  I  play  a  shil- 
*ling  upon  numbers  6,  27,  49,  and  say  "  terno  secco,"  should 
one  or  two  of  the  three  be  drawn,  I  gain  much  more  by  this 
terno  secco  than  had  I  spread  the  chance  over  the  ambo  and 


LOTTERIES.  241 

ture  upon,  the  buyer  is  guided  sometimes  by  a  dream, 
sometimes  by  tbe  answers  of  a  fortune-teller,  and  some- 
times by  accidental  circumstances.  There  are  printed 
books  in  which  multitudes  of  events  and  objects  are 
designated,  each  by  its  appropriate  number  or  combi- 
nation of  numbers  :  these  books  are  constantly  in  the 
hands  of  the  common  people,  and  consulted  whenever 
any  thing  remarkable  takes  place.  An  Englishman  in 
Rcftne  once  threw  himself  out  of  a  window  and  was 
killed.  There  was  immediately  a  great  run  upon  the 
numbers  corresponding  to  window,  death,  and  the  age 
of  the  suicide.  A  German  fell  down  the  steps  of  a 
house  and  injured  his  shoulder.  The  family  who  lived 
on  the  floor  where  he  landed  bought  numbers  corres- 
ponding to  shoulder,  and  a  fall  down  stairs,  adding  that 
of  the  steps  over  which  he  had  tumbled.  They  were 
so  lucky  as  to  draw  a  prize,  and  they  went  to  thank 
their  benefactor  for  the  good  fortune  he  had  brought 
them.  These  lotteries  are  usually  drawn  on  Sunday. 
The  numbers  are  put  into  a  box,  taken  out  by  a  boy, 
and  announced  by  an  officer,  in  a  loud  voice,  to  the 
expectant  crowd,  whose  expressive  countenances  pass 
rapidly  from  hope  to  joy  or  despair,  according  as  they 
win  or  lose.  A  dignitary  of  the  church  is  usually 
present  to  grace  the  ceremony.  The  direct  and  indi- 
rect mischiefs  of  this  legalized  system  of  gaming  —  the 
money  wasted  by  it,  the  loss  of  time  it  occasions,  its 
poisonous  influence  upon  the  mind  and  the  moral  sense, 

estratto.  If  I  play  a  shilling  on  one  number,  88,  for  instance, 
I  may  play  it  as  estratto  that  is  drawn,  or  as  eletto  which  is 
drawn,  first,  second,  third,  fourth,  or  fifth,  of  the  five  always 
drawn.'  —  Memoirs  of  Col.  MACERONI,  vol.  ii.  p.  37. 

VOL.   II.  16 


242  MORALS. 

and  the  distate  for  dull  and  hard  work  which  it  begets, 
are  felt  and  acknowledged  by  all  enlightened  men ; 
but  there  would  be  great  difficulties  in  the  way  of  abol- 
ishing it,  so  strong  and  so  universal  is  the  passion  for  it 
among  the  people.  It  could  only  be  effectually  done 
by  a  concert  of  action  among  the  several  governments 
of  the  peninsula.  The  Papal  government,  it  is  fair  to 
state,  was  the  last  to  establish  a  lottery  of  its  own.  and 
devotes  a  part  of  the  income  derived  from  it  to  charita- 
ble purposes. 

The  sweeping  charge  of  dissoluteness,  so  often 
"brought  by  travellers  against  the  whole  people  of  Italy, 
is  certainly  not  just  when  applied  to  the  greater  part  of 
its  rural  population.  Indeed,  on  this  point,  the  observa- 
tions of  travellers  are  made  upon  a  small  class  of  idle 
men  and  women,  living  in  large  towns,  who  are  doomed 
either  to  selfish  and  heartless  celibacy  or  to  marriages 
of  convenience.  Where  there  is  want  of  occupation 
and  want  of  interest,  one  great  safeguard  against  tempta- 
tion is  removed,  and  intrigue  and  gallantry  are  resorted 
to  by  way  of  pastime,  and  to  give  flavor  to  the  insipid 
dish  of  life.  In  the  cities  and  large  towns  of  Italy,  so- 
ciety, as  that  word  is  usually  used,  is  corrupt ;  but  this 
is  a  reproach  by  no  means  peculiar  to  that  country. 
But,  even  in  these,  the  chief  object  of  the  greater  part 
of  the  population  is  to  earn  a  subsistence  ;  and  under 
this  necessity,  there  are  neither  time  nor  means  for  a 
life  of  habitual  profligacy.  That  the  marriage  vow  is 
not  kept,  nor  the  family  tie  respected,  among  the  trades- 
men and  mechanics  of  Rome  and  Florence,  that  they 
are  given  over  to  a  life  of  debasing  indulgence,  is  a 
state  of  things  which  a  moment's  reflection  will  con- 


MORALS.  243 

vince  us  to  be  impossible.  Were  it  so,  society  would 
come  to  an  end.  Though  the  higher  classes  are  profli- 
gate from  a  want  of  any  elevating  object  in  life  and 
from  a  corrupt  system  of  marriages,  and  though  the 
women  of  the  lower  orders  are  often  led  into  evil 
courses  through  the  pressure  of  poverty,  the  middle 
ranks  lead  at  least  decent  and  reputable  lives.  But  the 
rural  population  of  the  Papal  states  may  indeed  in 
this  respect  be  called  a  virtuous  people.  The  practice 
of  auricular  confession,  often  abused  and  always  sus- 
ceptible of  abuse,  herein  works  favorably  ;  as  we  also 
see  its  good  influence  in  the  superior  chastity  of  the 
Irish  peasantry  as  compared  with  the  English.  The 
conduct  of  young  persons  before  marriage  is  regulated 
by  a  very  rigid  law  of  decorum ;  and  after  marriage, 
besides  the  restraints  of  religion  and  public  opinion,  the 
jealous  and  vindictive  temper  of  the  people  checks  the 
approach  of  temptation.  An  injured  husband  takes  the 
law  into  his  own  hands,  and  avenges  the  wrong  done  to 
his  honor  by  a  stab  with  a  knife  ;  and  even  mere  im- 
prudence and  levity  of  conduct  is  often  thus  cruelly 
punished.  Nor  does  the  tone  of  public  feeling  severely 
reprobate  this  '  wild  justice,'  and  bad  as  it  is,  it  has  the 
effect  to  prevent  the  wrong  which  it  so  sternly  rights. 

But  the  rural  population  of  the  Roman  States  cannot 
be  excepted  from  another  charge  brought  against  the 
Italian  people  in  general,  and  to  which  most  of  them 
are  unhappily  obnoxious  —  that  of  want  of  principle 
and  self-respect  in  all  money  transactions.  The  tem- 
per and  patience  of  the  traveller  are  exhaused  by  the 
constant  indications  of  a  want  of  manliness  and  a  want 
of  honesty  on  the  part  of  those  with  whom  he  comes  in 


244  BEGGING. 

contact.  Every  thing  at  the  inns  must  be  bargained 
for  beforehand,  and  extortion  will  creep  in  at  the 
slightest  unguarded  loophole.  Every  mechanic  and 
shopkeeper  begins  by  asking  twice  as  much  for  his 
services  or  his  goods  as  he  intends  to  take.  The  most 
inventive  fancy  cannot  anticipate  all  the  various  expe- 
dients and  excuses  by  which  pauls  and  baiocchi  are 
extracted  from  the  purse.  Besides  these,  there  is  the 
almost  universal  taint  of  beggary,  which  rests  like  a 
plague-spot  over  town  and  country  ;  at  least,  every 
where  that  the  presence  of  strangers  offers  any  temp- 
tation. There  are  multitudes  who  adopt  begging  delib- 
erately, and  as  a  profession,  either  from  sheer  laziness, 
or  from  some  disabling  physical  infirmity,  which  they 
always  contrive  to  obtrude  upon  notice  in  the  most 
offensive  manner.  But  the  evil  does  not  stop  here,  for 
there  is  a  large  number  of  amateur  beggars,  who  make 
begging  an  occasional  episode  and  digression  in  their 
lives,  who  solicit  alms  whenever  a  favorable  opportunity 
offers  or  a  promising  countenance  presents  itself;  who, 
in  short,  are  restrained  by  no  sense  of  independence, 
no  glow  of  self-respect,  no  sting  of  shame,  from  stoop- 
ing to  this  degrading  habit.  In  those  beautiful  moun- 
tainous tracts  near  Rome,  to  which  the  feet  of  tourists 
are  most  accustomed,  there  is  no  assurance  where  a 
peasant  man  or  woman  is  met,  that  they  will  not  put  on 
the  bending  gesture  and  lazy  whine  of  a  mendicant, 
and  drawl  out  a  dismal  '  date  mi  qualche  cosa,'  break- 
ing in  upon  the  Jhoughts  inspired  by  the  scenery  like  a 
discordant  note  in  a  strain  of  music.  This  is  a  sad 
state  of  things,  but  it  is  fair  to  hear  what  may  be  said 
by  way  of  apology  or  palliation.  Italy  is  a  country 


PERSONAL    APPEARANCE.  245 

swarming  with  travellers  during  a  portion  of  the  year, 
and  comparatively  deserted  during  the  rest.  It  is  also 
a  country  whose  material  resources  are  but  imperfectly 
developed,  thus  giving  but  limited  sphere  and  occupa- 
tion to  its  redundant  population.  These  travellers  also, 
as  a  general  rule,  move  through  certain  prescribed 
routes  and  settle  within  certain  well-defined  limits  ;  and 
by  long  habit,  a  considerable  portion  of  the  population 
depend  absolutely  for  their  daily  bread  upon  their  ad- 
vent and  residence.  Rome,  especially,  from  which  a 
large  part  of  the  inferences  respecting  all  Italy  are 
drawn,  is  a  winter  watering-place.  Here,  on  the  one 
side,  is  a  resident  population,  needy  to  the  last  degree ; 
and,  on  the  other,  a  fleeting  population,  rich  to  a  certain 
extent,  as  the  mere  fact  of  travelling  implies,  but  really 
believed  to  be  made  of  gold  and  silver ;  and  the  two 
thrown  together  for  once  and  not  likely  ever  to  meet 
again.  Surely  something  may  be  pardoned  here  to 
the  weakness  of  man.  The  permanent  inhabitants  of 
watering-places  in  England  and  America  have  not  the 
reputation,  to  say  the  least,  of  pushing  their  notions  of 
disinterestedness  and  fair  dealing  to  any  thing  like  ro- 
mantic extravagance.  Those  who  have  lived  long 
enough  in  Italy  to  become  domesticated  among  its 
people,  and  to  penetrate  into  those  nooks  and  by-ways 
which  are  not  stained  by  the  stream  of  foreign  travel, 
give  a  much  better  account  of  the  country. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  mountainous  regions  near 
Rome  are,  generally  speaking,  a  fine-looking  race. 
The  men  are  well-formed,  and,  in  their  movement  and 
bearing,  free  and  graceful.  They  fall  naturally  into 
striking  and  statuesque  attitudes,  and,  when  speaking, 


246  PERSONAL  APPEARANCE. 

break  into  kindling  and  expressive  gestures.  The 
women  did  not  seem  to  me  so  handsome  as  the  men, 
though  among  them  there  are  often  fine  heads  and 
striking  countenances.  From  their  habit  of  carrying 
burdens  upon  the  head,  they  are  very  erect,  and  their 
gait  and  movement  are  full  of  emphasis  and  expression. 
In  young  men  and  women  both,  there  is  a  great  deal  of 
a  kind  of  beauty  to  which  our  northern  eyes  are  not 
much  accustomed  —  that  derived  from  color  alone. 
With  them  the  tone  of  coloring  is  Venetian  ;  with  us, 
Umbrian.  The  complexion  is  of  a  rich  healthy  yellow, 
with  a  burnish  and  glow  upon  it  like  that  of  a  ripe  nec- 
tarine ;  the  eyes  are  of  sparkling  brown  or  black  ;  the 
teeth,  white  and  regular ;  and  the  massive  raven  hair 
shines  with  a  sort  of  metallic  light,  like  a  bit  of  freshly- 
broken  anthracite  coal.  These  fine  colors,  so  common 
in  Italy,  are  in  part  the  result  of  that  open-air  life  which 
all  the  people  lead.  In  southern  Italy,  at  least,  no  man 
or  woman,  especially  in  the  rural  regions,  stays  under 
a  roof  any  longer  than  is  inevitable.  Every  person 
who  has  lived  in  Rome  or  its  neighborhood,  must  have 
noticed  the  antipathy  felt  by  the  inhabitants  to  a  fire. 
An  Italian  child,  from  the  moment  he  is  born,  begins  to 
know  the  light  and  air  of  heaven.  He  tumbles  about 
the  grass  like  a  dropped  orange.  Even  when  within 
doors,  the  sun  shines  and  the  wind  blows  in  through 
huge  yawning  windows  —  if  windows  they  can  be 
called  which  are  without  glass  or  shutters  —  and 
through  great  openings  where  doors  ought  to  be,  but 
are  not.  He  never  breathes  an  atmosphere  poisoned 
by  stoves  or  furnaces,  but  grows  up  in  the  sunshine  and 
the  breeze.  Thus  it  is  rare  to  see  a  sickly  complex- 


COSTUME.  257 

ion,  and  almost  every  countenance  has  a  look  of  ripe- 
ness and  soundness. 

The  peasantry  near  Rome,  both  male  and  female, 
are  fond  of  showy  costumes,  and  they  have  a  native 
taste  for  the  disposition  of  colors,  and  the  appropriate 
use  of  ornaments  of  gold  and  silver.  On  all  festival 
and  holiday  occasions,  when  they  appear  in  their  best 
attire,  the  general  effect  produced  is  very  fine,  and 
forms  a  strong  attraction  to  artists,  who  learn  here  the 
difference  between  costume  and  dress. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Artists  in  Borne  —  Crawford. 
ARTISTS  IN  ROME. 

THE  artists  in  Rome  form  a  numerous  body,  social 
in  their  tastes  and  gregarious  in  their  habits.  The 
distinctions  of  blood  and  speech  give  way  under  the 
fusing  influence  of  a  common  devotion  to  the  same 
pursuits.  The  general  artist  type  is  more  easily  re- 
cognized than  the  particular  nationality.  The  outward 
appearance  of  the  whole  class  expresses  a  pursuit  of 
the  picturesque  under  difficulties.  The  hair  and  beard 
are  taught  to  curl  and  wave  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
give,  if  possible,  a  romantic  and  ideal  character  to 
commonplace  features.  The  costume  happily  com- 
bines roughness  and  quaintness,  so  as  to  be  at  once 
imaginative  and  economical.  They  generally  dine  at 
the  Lepre,  in  the  Via  Condotti,  and  take  their  coffee  in 
the  Cafe  Greco,  in  the  same  street  —  a  dark  and  dirty 
hole,  reeking  with  the  fumes  of  bad  tobacco.  Many  of 
them  add  music  to  their  other  accomplishments,  and  in 
the  evening  their  voices  often  gratefully  break  the  deep 
silence  of  the  streets  of  Rome. 


ARTISTS    IN    ROME.  249 

The  greater  number  of  these  artists  are  Germans, 
who  exert  a  sensible  influence  uponXudents  from 
other  nations.  This  is  especially  true  of  tnte  painters. 
The  Germans  have,  in  this  art,  fairly  earned\the  rank 
and  consideration  which  they  enjoy.  Their  style  of 
painting  is  often  unfairly  judged,  because  judged  by  its 
defects  —  its  stiff  outlines,  its  elaborate  precision  of  de- 
sign, and  its  watery  tone  of  color.  But  to  do  justice  to 
the  German  school  of  painting  as  it  now  is,  we  must  go 
back  to  what  it  was  thirty  or  forty  years  ago,  when 
Cornelius,  Overbeck,  Schadow,  and  Veit,  then  residing 
in  Rome,  began  to  breathe  into  art  the  breath  of  spirit- 
ual life,  and  to  grasp  the  pencil  once  more  with  hands 
as  pure  as  those  of  Fra  Angelico.  Before  this  period, 
frivolous  or  profligate  lives  expressed  themselves  in  un- 
meaning or  sensual  forms,  and  painting  aspired  to  be 
no  more  than  a  kind  of  luxury  addressed  to  the  eye. 
Cornelius  and  his  friends  recognized  a  higher  aim  in 
art,  and  felt  that  no  amount  of  technical  skill  could 
atone  for  the  want  of  that  vital  inspiration  which  flows 
from  earnestness  of  purpose,  purity  of  sentiment,  and 
depth  of  feeling.  It  was  their  faith  that  the  artist 
himself  must  be  a  man  of  pure  life  and  religious  spirit, 
before  art  could  become  an  instrument  of  moral  and 
spiritual  growth.  With  these  views  and  in  this  mood, 
they  dedicated  themselves  to  their  work  and  steadily 
persevered  in  their  purpose,  unmoved  by  the  opposition 
of  the  few  or  the  indifference  of  the  many  ;  until,  like 
Wordsworth,  a  kindred  spirit  in  a  sister  art,  they  had 
formed  the  taste  by  which  they  were  to  be  judged. 
The  debt  of  gratitude  which  is  due  to  these  Luthers  and 
Melancthons  in  art  should  be  freely  paid,  and  even 


250  ARTISTS    IN    ROME. 

their  mannerisms  be  pardoned  as  energetic  protests 
against  corruption  and  degeneracy. 

Overbeck  still  resides  in  Rome  and  pursues  his  art. 
He  is  a  very  devout  Catholic,  and  leads  a  life  of  almost 
monastic  seclusion.  I  visited  his  studio  —  which  is 
open  to  the  public  once  a  week  —  and  had  at  the  same 
time  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him.  He  is  tall  and  thin 
in  person,  subdued  in  manner,  and  with  a  countenance 
expressive  of  benevolence  and  self-renunciation.  His 
appearance  was  a  combination  of  the  gentleman,  the 
artist,  and  the  monk.  The  works  of  his  studio  were 
exclusively  charcoal  drawings  of  sacred  subjects,  chiefly 
taken  from  the  life  of  the  Saviour.  They  were  all  char- 
acterized by  depth  and  purity  of  sentiment,  but  in  their 
execution  I  was  a  little  disappointed.  They  seemed  to 
be  drawn  with  a  hesitating  hand,  as  if  the  mind  of  the 
artist  had  been  oppressed  with  the  grandeur  of  his 
theme.  There  was  also  a  want  of  ideal  beauty  in  the 
faces,  which  were  cast  in  a  broad  Teutonic  mould. 
There  was  something  strongly  subjective  in  their  ex- 
pression, which  shewed  that  they  were  the  productions 
of  a  man  who  lived  in  seclusion,  and  reproduced  the 
images  of  his  own  mind  without  replenishing  his  fancy 
by  observation.  The  most  pleasing  of  his  works  was 
a  drawing  illustrating  the  parable  of  the  wise  and  foolish 
virgins.  In  this,  the  architecture  and  accessaries  were 
rather  Gothic  and  mediaeval  than  oriental,  and  there 
was  a  want  of  grace  and  ideality  in  the  forms  and  faces 
of  the  principal  figures  ;  but  there  was  great  purity  of 
design  and  truth  of  sentiment,  combined  with  the  most 
conscientious  accuracy  of  drawing.  There  is  great 
satisfaction  in  looking  at  a  work  of  this  kind,  in  which 


ARTISTS    IN    ROME.  251 

nothing  is  done  for  effect,  and  where  the  design  and 
drawing  offer  themselves  boldly  to  criticism,  and  disdain 
the  shelter  of  a  gaudy  tone  of  color. 

Overbeck,  from  his  age,  his  European  reputation, 
and  the  high  merit  of  his  works,  may  be  said  to  stand 
at  the  head  of  the  artists  in  Rome ;  though,  from  the 
ascetic  seclusion  of  his  habits,  he  exerts  but  little  per- 
sonal influence  upon  his  professional  brethren.  No 
one,  however,  either  in  painting  or  sculpture,  has  suc- 
ceeded to  the  throne  left  vacant  by  the  illustrious  Thor- 
walsden.  He  was  one  of  those  men  of  northern  birth, 
like  Winkelman  and  Zoega,  who  find  in  the  scenery, 
the  climate,  and  the  life  of  Italy,  the  home  of  their 
hearts ;  and  become  really  exiles  in  the  land  of  their 
birth.  Some  critics  affect  to  discover  the  Scandinavian 
in  his  works,  and  this  may  be  true  in  his  female  forms ; 
and  it  is  perhaps  also  true  that  in  the  reactionary  state 
of  feeling  against  Canova  and  his  school,  the  merits  of 
Thorwalsden  may  be  ranked  too  high.  But  it  must 
be  admitted  that  nothing  since  the  brightest  days  of 
Grecian  sculpture  is  better  than  his  best  works;  his 
statues  of  Jason  and  of  Mercury,  his  bas-reliefs  of 
Day  and  Night,  and  parts  of  the  Triumph  of  Alexan- 
der. He  combines  more  than  any  other  modern  sculp- 
tor, Michael  Angelo  not  excepted,  the  power  of  re- 
producing the  calm  beauty  of  Grecian  art,  and  the 
power  of  expressing  in  marble  the  sentiments  and 
affections  of  the  soul.  •  No  artist  except  Raphael  ever 
reigned  more  supremely  over  the  two  realms  of  form 
and  spirit.  He  is  at  once  the  most  classic  and  the 
most  Christian  of  sculptors.  He  is  equally  at  home  in 
these  lovely  forms  of  classic  mythology  which  mean 


252  ARTISTS    IN    ROME. 

nothing  but  what  they  are,  and  those  spiritual  shapes 
which  are  the  symbols  of  truth  and  the  representatives 
of  ideas. 

Thorwalsden  was  as  happy  in  his  temperament  and 
disposition  as  in  his  genius.  He  was  not  goaded  by 
those  fervid  and  impetuous  passions  which  have  made 
the  lives  of  so  many  artists  as  turbid  and  restless  as  the 
course  of  a  mountain  torrent.  His  youth  was  not 
stormy  and  his  age  was  not  torpid  :  he  had  nothing  to 
subdue  and  nothing  to  repent.  Neither  envy  nor  malice 
nor  hatred  ruffled  the  fountains  in  which  he  saw  the 
face  of  beauty.  He  waited  patiently  for  fame  and 
wealth ;  and  when  they  came,  he  was  not  elated  by 
them.  No  one  was  inclined  to  question  his  title  to 
honors  which  were  so  gently  worn.  Genial,  sympa- 
thetic, retiring  in  his  habits  but  not  ascetic,  he  never 
lost  his  interest  in  life,  nor  ceased  to  follow  the  fleeting 
steps  of  ideal  beauty.  His  simple  tastes  enabled  him 
to  indulge  largely  in  the  luxury  of  giving.  He  was  a 
generous  and  discriminating  patron  of  art,  and  had 
collected  around  him  a  most  interesting  gallery  of  the 
works  of  living  painters,  the  greater  part  of  which 
were  specially  ordered  by  him.  To  young  sculptors 
he  gave  what  was  better  than  money  —  advice,  en- 
couragement, and  instruction  —  never  seasoned  with 
harshness  or  arrogance,  but  always  as  gently  conveyed 
as  gratefully  received. 

Among  the  artists  resident  in  Rome  at  the  time  of 
my  visit  were  many  distinguished  men,  especially 
among  the  sculptors.  Setting  Overbeck  aside,  there 
were  no  names  among  the  painters  comparable  to 
those  of  Tenerani,  Wolff,  Gibson,  and  Crawford.  Ital- 


ARTISTS    IN    ROME.  253 

ian  painting  is  at  a  very  low  point  of  degeneracy. 
There  is  nothing,  even,  to  replace  the  pedantic  draw- 
ing, the  academic  attitudes  and  brick-dust  coloring  of 
Camuccini.  There  was  an  exhibition  of  the  works  of 
native  artists  in  the  spring  of  1848,  most  of  which  were 
incredibly  bad — to  which  England  seemed  to  have 
contributed  the  drawing;  Germany,  the  color;  and 
France,  the  sentiment. 

Every  young  artist  dreams  of  Rome  as  the  spot 
where  all  his  visions  may  be  realized  ;  and  it  would 
indeed  seem  that  there,  in  a  greater  degree  than  any 
where  else,  were  gathered  those  influences  which  ex- 
pand the  blossoms,  and  ripen  the  fruit  of  genius. 
Nothing  can  be  more  delicious  than  the  first  experi- 
ences of  a  dreamy  and  imaginative  young  man  who 
comes  from  a  busy  and  prosaic  city,  to  pursue  the 
study  of  art  in  Rome.  He  finds  himself  transported 
into  a  new  world  where  every-  thing  is  touched  with 
finer  lights  and  softer  shadows.  The  hurry  and  bustle 
to  which  he  has  been  accustomed  are  no  longer  per- 
ceived. No  sounds  of  active  life  break  the  silence  of 
his  studies,  but  the  stillness  of  a  Sabbath  morning  rests 
over  the  whole  city.  The  figures  whom  he  meets  in 
the  streets  move  leisurely,  and  no  one  has  the  air  of 
being  due  at  a  certain  place  at  a  certain  time.  All 
his  experiences,  from  his  first  waking  moment  till  the 
close  of  the  day,  are  calculated  to  quicken  the  imagi- 
nation and  train  the  eye.  The  first  sound  which  he 
hears  in  the  morning,  mingling  with  his  latest  dreams, 
is  the  dash'  of  a  fountain  in  a  neighboring  square. 
When  he  opens  his  window,  he  sees  the  sun  resting 
upon  some  dome  or  tower,  gray  with  time  and  heavily 


ARTISTS    IN    ROME. 

freighted  with  traditions.  He  takes  his  breakfast  in 
the  ground-floor  of  an  old  palazzo,  still  bearing  the 
stamp  of  faded  splendor ;  and  looks  out  upon  a  shel- 
tered garden,  in  which  orange  and  lemon-trees  grow 
side  by  side  with  oleanders  and  roses.  While  he  is 
sipping  his  coffee,  a  little  girl  glides  in  and  lays  a 
bunch  of  violets  by  the  side  of  his  plate,  with  an  ex- 
pression in  her  serious  black  eyes  which  would  make 
his  fortune  if  he  could  transfer  it  to  canvas.  During 
the  day,  his  only  difficulty  is  how  to  employ  his  bound- 
less wealth  of  opportunity.  There  are  the  Vatican 
and  the  Capitol,  with  treasures  of  art  enough  to  occupy 
a  patriarchal  life  of  observation  and  study.  There  are 
the  palaces  of  the  nobility,  with  their  stately  architec- 
ture, and  their  rich  collections  of  painting  and  sculp- 
ture. Of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty  churches  in 
Rome,  there  is  not  one  which  does  not  contain  some 
picture,  statue,  mosaic,  or  monumental  structure,  either 
of  positive  excellence  or  historical  interest.  And  when 
the  full  mind  can  receive  no  more  impressions,  and  he 
comes  into  the  open  air  for  repose,  he  finds  himself 
surrounded  with  objects  which  quicken  and  feed  the 
sense  of  art.  The  dreary  monotony  of  uniform  brick 
walls,  out  of  which  doors  and  windows  are  cut  at  regu- 
lar intervals,  no  longer  disheartens  the  eye,  but  the 
view  is  every  where  varied  by  churches,  palaces,  pub- 
lic buildings,  and  monuments,  not  always  of  positive 
architectural  merit,  but  each  with  a  distinctive  charac- 
ter of  its  own.  The  very  fronts  of  the  houses  have 
as  individual  an  expression  as  human  faces  in  a 
crowd.  His  walks  are  full  of  exhilarating  surprises. 
He  comes  unawares  upon  a  fountain,  a  column,  or  an 


ARTISTS    IN    ROME.  255 

obelisk  —  a  pine  or  a  cypress  —  a  ruin  or  a  statue. 
The  living  forms  which  he  meets  are  such  as  he  would 
gladly  pause  and  transfer  to  his  sketch-book — ecclesi- 
astics with  garments  of  flowing  black,  and  shovel-hats 
upon  their  heads  —  capuchins  in  robes  of  brown  — 
peasant  girls  from  Albano,  in  their  holiday  boddices, 
with  black  hair  lying  in  massive  braids,  large  brown 
eyes,  and  broad  low  foreheads  —  beggars  with  white 
beards,  whose  rags  flutter  picturesquely  in  the  breeze, 
and  who  ask  alms  with  the  dignity  of  Roman  senators. 
Beyond  the  walls  are  the  villas,  with  their  grounds 
and  gardens,  like  landscapes  sitting  for  their  pic- 
tures, and  then  the  infinite,  inexhaustible  Campagna, 
set  in  its  splendid  frame  of  mountains,  with  its  tombs 
and  aqueducts,  its  skeleton  cities  and  nameless  ruins, 
its  clouds  and  cloud-shadows,  its  memories  and  tradi- 
tions. He  sees  the  sun  go  down  behind  the  dome 
of  St.  Peter's,  and  light  up  the  windows  of  the  drum 
with  his  red  blaze,  and  the  dusky  veil  of  twilight  grad- 
ually extend  over  the  whole  horizon.  In  the  moon- 
light evenings,  he  walks  to  the  Colosseum,  or  to  the 
piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  or  to  the  ruins  of  the  Forum, 
and  under  a  light  which  conceals  all  that  is  unsightly, 
and  idealizes  all  that  is  impressive,  may  call  up  the 
spirit  of  the  past;  and  bid  the  buried  majesty  of  old 
Rome  start  from  its  tomb. 

To  these  incidental  influences  which  train  the  hand 
and  eye  of  an  artist,  indirectly,  and  through  the  mind, 
are  to  be  added  many  substantial  and  direct  advan- 
tages ;  such  as  the  abundance  of  models  to  draw  from, 
the  facility  of  obtaining  assistance  and  instruction,  the 
presence  of  an  atmosphere  of  art,  and  the  quickening 


256  ARTISTS    IN    ROME. 

impulse  communicated  by  constant  contact  with  others 
engaged  in  the  same  pursuits,  and  animated  with  the 
same  hopes.  If,  besides  all  these  external  influences, 
the  mind  of  the  young  artist  be  at  peace,  if  he  be  ex- 
empt from  the  corrosion  of  anxious  thoughts  and  live 
in  the  light  of  hope,  there  would  seem  to  be  nothing 
wanting  to  develop  every  germ  of  power,  and  to  se- 
cure the  amplest  harvest  of  beauty. 

But  this  is  the  favorable  aspect  of  the  case.  It  is 
like  an  argument  on  one  side  of  a  doubtful  cause. 
An  obvious  question  is  suggested  to  a  sceptical  mind  — 
if  Rome  be  a  place  of  such  magical  power,  why  does 
it  not  send  forth  an  annual  supply  of  Raphaels  and 
Correggios  ?  Of  these  clusters  of  fantastic  looking 
young  men,  bearded  and  mustachioed,  that  emerge 
from  the  reeking  depths  of  the  Cafe  Greco,  how  few 
are  there  that  ever  paint  a  picture  that  a  man  would 
want  to  look  at  twice,  much  less  buy.  How  much  of 
time  and  energy  is  wasted  in  idle  dreaming,  weak  self- 
indulgence,  lounging,  smoking,  and  wine-drinking.  It 
is  true  in  art,  as  in  many  other  things,  that  the  inward 
faculty  is  often  paralyzed  and  discouraged  by  the  too 
great  abundance  of  external  instruments  and  facilities. 
Compression  and  concentration  are  essential  elements 
in  attaining  the  best  possible  results.  The  stream, 
which  moves  with  such  power  and  swiftness  when 
shouldered  between  neighboring  cliffs,  would  become 
an  unsightly  swamp  if  left  to  spread  itself  over  a  wide 
and  level  region.  In  walking  through  the  halls  and 
galleries  of  the  Vatican,  with  their  army  of  busts  and 
statues,  I  have  often  said  to  myself,  that  if  I  were  a 
young  sculptor,  my  heart  would  break  at  the  sight  of 


ARTISTS   IN    ROME.  257 

what  was  around  me  ;  not  merely  from  despair  of  rival- 
ling the  excellence  of  the  best  works,  but  from  a  sense 
of  the  unprofitableness  of  laboring  to  add  any  thing 
more  to  stores  already  so  vast.  Besides,  that  the  accu- 
mulation of  so  many  works  of  the  highest  merit,  both 
in  sculpture  and  painting,  may  act  upon  many  natures 
rather  as  a  narcotic  than  a  stimulus,  the  presence  of  so 
much  that  bewitches  the  eye  has  a  tendency  to  draw 
the  attention  outward  to  external  objects ;  to  give  to 
the  thoughts  a  wandering  and  volatile  character,  and 
fill  the  mind  with  a  flutter  of  restless  images,  that 
never  can  become  fixed.  Excellence  in  art  is  to  be 
attained  by  active  effort  and  not  by  passive  impres- 
sions ;  by  the  manly  overcoming  of  difficulties ;  by 
patient  struggle  against  adverse  circumstances ;  by  the 
thrifty  use  of  moderate  opportunities.  The  great  art- 
ists were  not  rocked  and  dandled  into  eminence,  but 
they  attained  to  it  by  that  course  of  labor  and  disci- 
pline which  no  man  need  go  to  Rome  or  Paris  or 
London  to  enter  upon.  In  the  sphere  of  the  needful  and 
the  useful,  the  value  of  the  result  is  generally  pro- 
portioned to  the  richness  and  variety  of  the  instru- 
ments employed.  Law,  medicine,  or  engineering  may 
be  best  studied  where  there  are  the  best  libraries,  the 
ablest  professors,  the  -most  extended  facilities.  But 
not  so  with  the  fine  arts,  in  which  native  power  so 
largely  enters.  An  academy  for  teaching  young  men 
to  write  poetry  would  be  an  obvious  absurdity,  though 
it  might  have  the  effect  of  increasing  the  number  of 
commonplace  versifiers;  and  it  may  be  questioned 
whether  academies  of  painting,  with  their  lectures, 
their  casts,  their  models,  their  exhibitions,  and  their 
VOL.  n.  17 


258  ARTISTS    IN    ROME. 

prizes,  have  any  other  effect  than  to  multiply  the  num- 
ber of  indifferent  artists  and  of  poor  pictures  —  to 
make  painting  only  a  higher  kind  of  upholstery,  a 
little  better  than  the  trade  of  the  paper-stainer. 

To  visit  the  studios  of  young  artists  is  one  of  the  ap- 
proved methods  of  disposing  of  an  idle  forenoon  in 
Rome,  and  I  sometimes  fell  in  with  the  general  custom. 
But  such  expeditions  usually  threw  a  shadow  upon  my 
spirits,  because  they  left  upon  my  mind  a  prevailing 
impression  of  mediocrity  ;  sometimes  united  with  mod- 
esty, with  industry,  with  good  taste,  with  just  views,  but 
still,  mediocrity.  But  the  world  does  not  want  medi- 
ocrity in  those  fine  arts  which  respond  to  an  ultimate 
instinct,  and  are  not  means  towards  a  further  end.  Of 
what  value  is  a  tolerable  picture,  a  respectable  poem, 
a  statue  that  is  not  bad  ?  This  is,  indeed,  in  conform- 
ity with  the  stern  mood  of  Nature,  which  moves  by 
inexorable  and  unsentimental  laws,  and  is  prodigal  of 
promise  but  sparing  in  mature  results.  But  it  is  none 
the  less  saddening  to  be  forced  to  feel  that  of  so  many 
that  are  called,  so  few  are  chosen  ;  of  the  hopeful  and 
exulting  crowds  that  start  in  the  race,  how  many  drop 
on  the  way,  and  how  few  reach  the  goal !  As  I  have 
passed  groups  and  clusters  of  young  artists  in  Rome,  I 
have  often  thought  of  an  expression  which  broke  from 
Abernethy,  when  he  came  into  his  lecture-room  one 
morning  and  saw  it  thronged  with  medical  students, 
'  God  help  you  !  where  are  you  all  to  find  bread  ? ' 
More  than  once  have  I  visited  a  studio  in  which  one 
moment's  glance  was  enough  to  furnish  all  the  elements 
by  which  to  calculate  the  occupant's  horoscope.  There 
was  the  evidence  of  a  certain  facility  of  hand,  and  of 


ARTISTS    IN    ROME.  259 

an  organization  sensitive  to  fine  impressions,  but  no 
stamp  of  power  and  no  glimpse  of  ideal  beauty.  The 
young  artist  had  mistaken  sensibility  for  genius,  and 
dreams  for  creations.  He  was  destined  to  join  that  sad 
caravan  of  mediocrity,  who  wander  without  making 
progress  ;  to  become  one  of  those  forlorn  shadows  that 
are  neither  good  nor  bad,  whom  success  never  stays  to 
greet,  but  looks  at  and  passes  by  on  the  other  side.  It 
is  true,  that  such  a  lot  is  not  always  productive  of 
unhappiness,  and  that  moderate  powers  are  often  com- 
bined with  either  a  cheerfulness  of  temperament  which 
makes  sunshine  for  itself,  or  with  an  invincible  self- 
esteem  which  refuses  to  admit  what  it  cannot  but  see  ; 
so  that,  on  the  whole,  life  is  comfortable  enough.  But 
all  the  pursuits  of  an  artist,  the  hopes  on  which  he 
feeds,  the  dreams  which  visit  him,  and  the  daily  food 
of  his  mind,  tend  to  develope  that  sensitiveness  which, 
while  it  enhances  the  glow  of  triumph,  sharpens  also 
the  sting  of  failure.  In  common  life,  it  is  a  misfortune 
to  have  more  ambition  than  power ;  in  art,  to  have  more 
of  the  vision  than  the  faculty.  Unhappy  is  the  life  of 
that  artist  who  will  not  recognize  the  inexorable  fact  of 
his  own  mediocrity  ;  who  nurses  the  delusion  that  his 
want  of  success  comes  from  the  obstruction  of  adverse 
circumstances,  and  not  from  essential  defects  ;  who  is 
ever  wooing  the  beauty  which  he  never  can  win.  His 
life  is,  indeed,  doubly  unhappy ;  for  his  rebellious  spirit 
will  check  the  growth  of  his  powers,  and  his  work  will 
be  darkened  by  the  shadows  of  his  discontent.  In  the 
fine  arts,  comparisons  are  inevitable  :  there  are  ranks, 
degrees,  and  gradations  of  excellence.  The  place  of 
an  artist  in  the  scale  of  merit  is  a  fact  from  which  he 


260  CRAWFORD. 

cannot  escape.  Unless  he  have  the  genius  which  will 
carry  him  near  to  the  top,  or  the  contented  spirit  which 
will  make  him  happy  lower  down,  let  him  betake  him- 
self to  more  modest  toils,  in  which,  if  there  be  less  to 
gain,  there  is  also  less  to  lose. 

CRAWFORD. 

I  should  do  injustice  to  my  own  feelings,  if  I  did  not 
make  particular  mention  of  our  distinguished  country- 
man, Crawford ;  and  yet  there  is  an  element  of  embar- 
rassment mingled  with  the  impulse  which  moves  me. 
It  is  difficult  to  hit  upon  the  proper  shade  of  language 
in  which  to  speak  of  the  works  or  the  genius  of  a 
valued  personal  friend.  We  shrink  from  excessive 
praise,  as  unworthy  of  the  affection  which  we  feel ; 
and  in  avoiding  that,  we  may  fall  into  a  tone  of  cold- 
ness and  restraint,  unworthy  of  the  object  of  that 
affection. 

The  range  of  sculpture  is  not  so  wide  as  that  of 
painting ;  and  sculptors  differ  less  among  themselves 
than  painters.  No  two  sculptors  can  stand  at  points  so 
remote  from  each  other  as  Rubens  and  Cornelius,  for 
instance  ;  both  great  painters.  The  distance  between 
one  sculptor  and  another  is  measured  upon  the  same 
scale,  and  the  distinction  is  more  that  of  degree  merely, 
than  in  painting.  To  produce  the  highest  excellence 
in  sculpture,  the  mind  and  the  hand  must  act  together. 
There  must  be  ideal  beauty,  truth  of  sentiment,  depth 
of  feeling;  and  there  must  be  also  mechanical  skill. 
These  two  elements  —  the  intellectual  and  the  manual 
—  rarely  meet.  We  see  works  in  which  a  sublime  or 


CRAWFORD.  261 

beautiful  idea  is  imperfectly  rendered  ;  reminding  us 
of  an  eloquent  speaker  struggling  to  express  himself  in 
a  foreign  tongue  ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  admirable 
mechanical  dexterity  is  occasionally  wasted  upon  low 
or  commonplace  themes.  In  mere  execution,  Bernini's 
Sta.  Theresa  is  a  more  clever  work  than  Maderno's  Sta. 
Cecilia ;  but  its  sentiment  is  vile,  and  no  man  of  relig- 
ious feeling,  or  even  moral  thoughtfulness,  would  wish 
to  look  upon  it  a  second  time. 

Hence,  in  works  of  sculpture  we  recognize  a  dis- 
tinction founded  upon  the  preponderance  of  the  mind 
or  the  hand.  Crawford  belongs  to  that  class  of  sculp- 
tors whom  —  for  want  of  a  better  term  —  we  may  call 
intellectual.  In  creative  power  and  poetical  feeling,  I 
should  place  him  at  the  head  of  all  his  professional 
brethren  in  Rome.  He  is  an  original  thinker  in  his 
art :  possessing  that  quality  of  invention,  without  which 
judgment  is  cold  and  taste  is  feeble.  He  feels  and 
comprehends  the  antique,  but  is  not  imprisoned  within 
its  range.  We  may  apply  to  him  what  was  so  happily 
said  of  Cowley,  that  he  wears  the  garb  but  not  the 
clothes  of  the  ancients.  He  is  capable,  alike,  of  ex- 
pressing modern  ideas  in  marble,  and  of  reproducing 
the  fine  forms  of  Grecian  art. 

Let  it  not  be  inferred  from  what  I  have  said,  that 
Crawford  is  at  all  deficient  in  mechanical  skill.  No 
one  is  capable  of  giving  a  more  minute  and  careful 
finish  to  his  works,  if  he  will  |  but  it  is  true  that  he  does 
not  always  do  himself  justice  in  this  respect.  He  has 
something  of  the  impatience  of  genius  :  before  an  image 
of  beauty  has  been  turned  to  form,  another  takes  pos- 
session of  his  mind ;  and  the  new  impulse  will  not  per- 


262  CRAWFORD. 

mil  him  to  linger  over  the  task  in  hand  with  that 
plodding  assiduity  which  costs  no  effort  to  men  of  less 
productive  imagination.  The  coming  and  the  parting 
guest  sometimes  interfere  with  each  other.  Art  is  long 
and  life  is  short  —  too  short  for  any  of  its  precious  mo- 
ments to  be  given  to  the  finical  minuteness  of  Chinese 
ivory  carving  :  the  unformed  block  in  which  the  new 
vision  sleeps,  waiting  to  be  waked  into  life,  exerts  a 
more  powerful  attraction  for  the  artist  than  the  statue  or 
bust  which  already  expresses  his  idea,  though  not  with 
sufficient  distinctness  for  those  with  whom  art  is  a  mere 
luxury  of  the  eye.  Thus,  Crawford's  fine  genius  is  not 
fairly  appreciated  by  those  nice  critics  who  judge  of 
works  in  sculpture  by  their  fidelity  of  imitation  ;  who 
go  into  raptures  over  the  skilful  reproduction  in  marble 
of  the  meshes  of  a  net  or  the  folds  of  a  veil. 

Crawford's  career  has  been  distinguished  by  energy, 
resolution,  and  self-reliance.  While  yet  a  youth,  he 
formed  the  determination  to  make  himself  an  artist ; 
and  with  this  view  went  to  Rome  about  seventeen  years 
ago  —  alone,  unfriended,  and  unknown  —  and  there 
began  a  life  of  toil  and  renunciation  ;  resisting  the  ap- 
proaches alike  of  indolence  and  despondency.  His 
strength  of  character  and  force  of  will  would  have 
earned  distinction  for  inferior  powers  than  his.  Nothing 
was  given  to  self-indulgence  ;  nothing  to  vague  dreams  ; 
nothing  to  unmanly  despair.  He  did  not  wait  for  the 
work  that  he  would  have,  but  labored  cheerfully  upon 
that  which  he  could  have.  Success  came  gradually, 
but  surely  ;  and  his  powers  as  surely  proved  themselves 
to  be  more  than  equal  to  the  demand  made  upon  them. 
His  progress  in  art  was  steady  and  uniform,  and  each 


CRAWFORD.  263 

step  onward  became  a  point  of  departure  for  a  new 
advance.  The  reception  in  Boston  of  his  statue  of 
Orpheus,  in  1841,  was  a  marked  era  in  his  life  :  the 
merits  of  this  fine  work  introduced  him  to  a  larger  circle 
of  admirers  than  he  had  before  possessed,  but  it  did  not 
surprise  those  who  had  previously  known  him. 

His  nature  is  concentrated  and  reserved  ;  his  sympa- 
thies deep  and  strong,  but  not  lightly  stirred.  Loved 
and  valued  by  those  who  know  him,  his  manner,  in 
general,  does  not  commend  his  fine  genius  and  sub- 
stantial worth  to  those  who  see  him  but  casually.  He 
is  the  most  truthful  of  men  :  in  his  whole  body  there  is 
not  a  drop  of  courtier's  blood.  He  owes  every  thing  to 
merit  and  nothing  to  favor.  I  have  been  more  than 
once  amused  to  notice  how,  by  a  sort  of  necessity  of 
his  nature,  he  would  become  particularly  rigid  and  un- 
expressive  when  thrown  into  the  presence  of  men  of 
fortune,  from  whom  a  commission  might  possibly  have 
been  received.  Like  all  men  who,  during  the  forming 
period  of  life,  have  lived  much  alone,  and  pursued  a 
great  object  with  intense  self-devotion,  his  spirit  is  not 
always  where  he  is  himself :  some  shape  or  vision  of 
beauty  seems  to  take  possession  of  his  thoughts  with  a 
power  not  to  be  escaped  or  postponed.  His  early  and 
exclusive  devotion  to  the  chisel  left  him  no  time  for 
any  wide  range  of  general  reading  ;  but  his  knowledge 
of  the  principles  and  history  of*  art,  and  of  the  lives  of 
eminent  artists,  is  far  greater  than  any  but  his  intimate 
friends  imagine.  The  Italian  language  is  to  him 
another  vernacular  tongue  :  he  has  lived  much  among 
Italians,  and  understands  the  mind  and  character  of  the 
people  as  few  foreigners  do. 


264  CRAWFORD. 

Crawford's  reserve  is  the  reserve  of  a  lofty  and  some- 
times abstracted  nature,  but  borrows  no  ingredient  from 
coldness,  timidity,  or  envy.  His  generous  spirit  passed 
unharmed  through  years  of  poverty  and  struggle.  To- 
wards his  brother  artists  he  has  always  turned  a  coun- 
tenance of  friendliness  and  sympathy.  As  he  was 
eager  to  learn,  so  he  is  ready  to  teach.  His  know- 
ledge and  skill  are  not  hoarded,  but  liberally  imparted. 
His  own  experiences  open  his  heart  to  those  young 
students  who  are  entering  upon  that  steep  and  difficult 
path,  over  which  he  moved  with  such  firm  steps  :  his 
hand  is  ever  ready  to  aid,  and  his  voice  to  encourage 
them. 

It  is  impossible  to  know  an  author  or  an  artist  with- 
out making  comparisons  between  the  man  and  his 
works.  With  my  knowledge  of  Crawford,  I  never 
entered  his  studio  and  looked  round  upon  his  various 
productions  —  in  marble,  plaster,  or  clay  —  without  a 
feeling  that,  excellent  as  they  were,  there  was  a  power 
in  him  beyond  any  thing  which  he  had  as  yet  accom- 
plished —  that  nothing  had  thus  far  called  forth  all  the 
hidden  resources  of  his  genius.  He  never  seemed  in 
his  appropriate  element  when  occupied  with  what  may 
be  called  drawing-room  sculpture  —  those  merely 
graceful  forms  which  are  not  in  discord  with  ottomans 
and  work-tables  —  but  he  required  a  wider  field  and 
higher  tasks.  The  great  work  upon  which  he  is  now 
occupied  for  the  state  of  Virginia,  opens  to  him  as 
noble  a  field  of  opportunity  as  was  ever  enjoyed  by  any 
sculptor,  and  that  his  success  will  be  equal  to  the  gran- 
deur of  his  theme  —  that  he  will  justify  to  the  world  all 
the  admiration  of  his  friends  —  is  with  those  who  know 


CRAWFORD.  265 

him  not  hope  but  conviction.  He  now  stands  upon  a 
point  where  he  may  look  back  upon  the  past  with  pride, 
and  forward  to  the  future  with  calm  assurance.  The 
struggle  was  not  too  long  continued ;  the  crown  did  not 
come  too  late.  The  harsh  aspect  of  past  trials  is  soft- 
ened by  distance  ;  yet  are  they  near  enough  to  deepen 
the  present  peace.  Singularly  happy  in  his  domestic 
relations,  passionately  attached  to  his  profession,  "his 
world  is  comprised  in  his  studio  and  his  family.  The 
energies  which  bore  him  so  triumphantly  through  years 
of  struggle  will  not  languish  in  the  air  of  happiness. 
The  light  which  he  followed  in  darkness  will  not  go 
out  in  the  blaze  of  noon. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

English  in  Italy  —  Steeple  Chase  on  the  Campagna. 
ENGLISH    IN    ITALY. 

AN  interesting  historical  essay  might  be  written  on 
the  causes  which  have  changed  the  old  Roman  char- 
acter into  the  modern  Italian.  The  points  of  resem- 
blance are  few  ;  the  points  of  difference  many  and 
marked.  The  Roman  was  stern,  downright,  and  con- 
centrated ;  the  Italian  is  sensitive,  impassioned,  and 
expansive.  The  Romans  had  great  organizing  and 
aggregating  power  ;  not  only  distributing  the  members 
of  a  single  state  in  the  harmonious  degrees  of  civil 
society,  but  setting  separate  states  into  an  imperial 
mosaic  of  symmetry  and  beauty.  In  modern  Italian 
history  we  see  vivid  individual  development  more  than 
combined  force,  and  the  fervid  energies  of  isolated 
communities  wasted  in  passionate  struggles  with  each 
other.  The  hard  and  uniform  Romans  submitted  them- 
selves to  be  bound  together  like  the  rods  of  the  consu- 
lar fasces,  but  the  sharper  and  more  salient  idiosyn- 
cracies  of  the  Italians  forbid  such  absorption.  The 
interpretation  of  the  Romans  is  found  in  law  and 
order ;  of  the  Italians,  in  beauty  and  art.  The  Latin 


ENGLISH    IN  ITALY.  267 

language  is  masculine,  robust,  energetic,  and  lapidary  : 
Latin  literature  is  earnest,  formal,  dignified,  and  cold : 
rather  to  be  characterized  by  negatives  than  by  posi- 
tives, for  it  is  not  imaginative,  not  inventive,  not  dra- 
matic. The  Italian  language  is  feminine,  flexible,  and 
elastic ;  soft  as  air  and  flowing  as  water ;  yielding 
to  the  finest  touch  and  floating  lightly  round  the  most 
aerial  forms  of  fancy.  Italian  literature  is  full  of  rich 
invention,  airy  beauty,  wild  wit,  gay  humor,  passionate 
feeling.  It  is  playful,  imaginative,  tender,  and  grace- 
ful. The  change  from  ancient  Rome  to  modern  Italy, 
from  strength  to  softness,  and  from  power  to  emotion, 
has  suggested  to  Landor  an  image  of  great  beauty. 

'  There  tiny  pleasures  occupy  the  place 
Of  glories  and  of  duties  ;  as  the  feet 
Of  fabled  fairies,  -when  the  sun  goes  down, 
Trip  o'er  the  grass  where  wrestlers  strove  by  day." 

The  Trasteverini,  who  dwell  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Tiber,  as  is  well  known,  claim  to  have  a  larger  share 
of  the  Roman  blood  than  their  neighbors  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream.  They  hold  their  heads  higher  and 
walk  with  larger  strides,  in  that  belief.  In  sober  truth, 
there  is  very  little  to  support  their  claim  to  the  blood 
of  old  Rome,  and  still  less,  to  its  spirit.  These  ex- 
citable and  explosive  people  shew,  in  their  boasting 
tongues  and  jealous  tempers,  that  exaggeration  of  self, 
the  freedom  from  which  was  the  corner-stone  of  Ro- 
man greatness.  Hands  that  stab  women  with  knives 
will  never  support  the  fabric  of  a  great  state. 

But  the  legitimate  descendants  of  the  old  Romans, 
the  true  inheritors  of  their  spirit,  are  still  to  be  found 


268  ENGLISH   IN    ITALY. 

in  Rome  ;  and  in  no  inconsiderable  numbers.  In  the 
morning,  they  may  be  seen  in  Monaldini's  reading- 
room,  poring  over  the  Times  or  Galignani,  galloping 
over  the  Campagna,  driving  about  the  streets  and 
never  looking  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left,  or  gather- 
ing in  groups  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  to  hear  the  last 
news  from  home.  In  the  afternoon,  they  betake  them- 
selves to  the  Pincio,  and  for  a  certain  season  pace  up 
and  down  its  gravelled  terrace  with  vigorous  strides, 
their  faces  wearing  a  look  of  determined  resolve,  as  if 
the  constitution  of  their  country,  as  well  as  their  own, 
would  suffer  if  they  lost  their  daily  walk.  They  are 
not  more  distinguished  from  the  Italians  by  their  brown 
hair  and  ruddy  complexions,  than  by  the  depth  of  their 
chests,  the  breadth  of  their  shoulders,  the  firmness  of 
their  step,  and  the  energy  of  their  movement.  They 
stalk  over  the  land  as  if  it  were  their  own.  There  is 
something  downright  and  uncompromising  in  their  air. 
They  have  the  natural  language  of  command,  and 
their  bearing  flows  from  the  proud  consciousness  of 
undisputed  power. 

The  English,  indeed,  are  the  true  Romans.  The 
magnificent  lines  —  in  which  the  national  pride  of  Vir- 
gil makes  the  inferiority  of  his  countrymen  in  art, 
eloquence,  and  science,  an  element  of  lofty  commen- 
dation —  are  at  this  day  applicable  to  the  descendants 
of  those  painted  Britons  who  stood  in  the  poet's  mind 
as  the  most  obvious  types  of  all  that  was  remote,  un- 
couth, and  barbarous.  They,  like  the  Romans,  are 
haughty  to  the  proud  and  forbearing  towards  the  weak. 
They  force  the  mood  of  peace  upon  nations  that  can- 
not afford  to  waste  their  strength  in  unprofitable  war. 


ENGLISH    IN   ITALY.  269 

They  are  law-makers,  road-makers,  and  bridge-makers. 
They  are  penetrated  with  the  instinct  of  social  order, 
and  have  the  organ  of  political  constructiveness.  The 
English,  too,  as  a  general  rule,  are  not  at  home  in  the 
region  of  art.  They  are  either  not  sensitive  to  the 
touch  of  beauty,  or  affect  not  to  be.  Their  artists  are 
wanting  in  ideal  grace  and  depth  of  sentiment.  The 
manly  genius  of  the  nation  disdains  the  tricks  and 
colors  of  rhetoric.  Their  common  speech  is  abrupt ; 
and  their  public  discourse,  plain,  business-like,  and 
conversational.  A  course  of  policy  which  all  Chris- 
tendom waits  to  hear  is  announced  by  a  badly-dressed 
gentleman,  in  a  series  of  clumsy  and  fragmentary  sen- 
tences, in  which  there  is  always  good  sense  but  not 
always  good  grammar.  The  English  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  have  the  taste  which  the  patricians  of  Rome 
had,  for  agricultural  and  rural  life.  They  have  the 
same  liking  for  rough,  athletic  sports ;  the  same  insen- 
sibility to  animal  pain  and  suffering ;  and  in  their  per- 
sonal habits,  the  same  love  of  bathing  —  a  taste  which 
has  quite  died  out  upon  the  soil  of  Rome. 

The  English  residing  or  travelling  upon  the  conti- 
nent would,  if  gathered  together,  make  a  large  city. 
They  carry  England  with  them  wherever  they  go.  In 
Rome,  there  is  an  English  church,  an  English  reading- 
room,  an  English  druggist,  an  English  grocer,  and  an 
English  tailor.  As  England  is  an  island,  so  they  every 
where  form  an  insular  community,  upon  which  the 
waves  of  foreign  influence  beat  in  vain.  This  pecu- 
liarity penetrates  to  the  individual.  A  French  or  Ger- 
man table  d'hote  is  a  social  continent ;  but  an  English 
coffee-room,  at  the  hour  of  dinner,  is  an  archipelago  of 


270  ENGLISH    IN    ITALY. 

islets,  with  deep  straits  of  reserve  and  exclusiveness 
flowing  between.  Travellers  of  other  nations  learn  to 
conform  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people 
^ about  them  ;  avoiding  the  observation  attracted  by  sin- 
gularity. Not  so  the  Englishman  :  he  boldly  faces  the 
most  bristling  battery  of  comment  and  notice.  His 
shooting  jacket,  checked  trowsers,  and  brown  gaiters 
proclaim  his  nationality  before  he  begins  to  speak  ;  he 
rarely  yields  to  the  seduction  of  a  moustache  ;  he  is 
inflexibly  loyal  to  tea  ;  and  will  make  a  hard  fight  be- 
fore consenting  to  dine  at  an  earlier  hour  than  five. 

The  English  in  Rome,  as  a  general  rule,  shew  little 
sensibility  to  the  peculiar  influences  of  the  place.  To- 
wards the  Catholic  Church  and  its  ceremonies  they  turn 
a  countenance  of  irreverent  curiosity  ;  trying  the  spirit 
of  the  Italians  by  their  careless  deportment,  their 
haughty  strides,  and  their  inveterate  staring  —  intimat- 
ing that  the  forms  of  Catholic  worship  are  merely  dra- 
matic entertainments  performed  by  daylight.  Nor  are 
they  much  moved  by  beauty,  in  nature  or  art.  An 
Englishman,  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  regards  emotion  or 
enthusiasm  as  feminine  weaknesses,  unworthy  of  man- 
hood. A  fine  dog  or  horse  calls  forth  from  him  more 
energetic  admiration  than  the  most  beautiful  landscape 
or  picture.  He  marches  through  a  gallery  with  reso- 
lute strides  —  his  countenance  expanding  as  the  end 
draws  near.  Five  minutes  despatch  a  Raphael  ;  four, 
a  Titian  or  Correggio ;  and  two  or  three  are  enough  for 
less  illustrious  names. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  the  English  in  Rome  are 
not  popular,  either  with  the  Italians  —  in  spite  of  the 
money  they  spend  —  or  with  their  fellow-sojourners 


ENGLISH   IN    ITALY.  271 

from  other  lands.  They  form  the  subject  of  innumera- 
ble caricatures  ;  and  hardly  a  book  of  travels  appears 
in  any  language  but  their  own  which  is  not  seasoned 
with  stories  —  good,  if  not  true  —  of  English  phlegm, 
English  rudeness,  or  English  eccentricity.  But  this 
unpopularity  is  not  more  marked  than  the  lofty  disdain 
with  which  it  is  accepted  by  the  parties  who  are  the 
subjects  of  it.  Coriolanus  himself  did  not  confront  ill- 
will  with  a  haughtier  brow.  Indeed,  as  a  general  rule, 
an  Englishman  is  never  so  repulsive  as  when  it  is  his 
cue  to  conciliate  opposition  and  disarm  unreasonable 
prejudice. 

The  institutions  of  England  are  eminently  calculated 
to  promote  individual  development ;  that  is,  among  the 
favored  classes  ;  and  herein  the  parallel  between  them 
and  the  old  Romans  fails.  An  Englishman,  happily 
born  and  reared,  has  larger  opportunities  for  growth 
and  expansion  than  have  been  enjoyed  by  the  people  of 
any  country,  at  any  period  —  Athens,  at  its  best  age, 
not  excepted  —  for  the  religious  and  domestic  elements 
in  England  more  than  balance  the  art  and  philosophy 
of  Athens.  The  most  finished  men  I  have  ever  known 
were  Englishmen.  But  the  difference  between  the  top 
and  the  bottom  of  the  scale  is  much  greater  than  with 
us.  The  most  ignorant  men  I  saw  on  the  Continent 
—  the  least  prepared  to  profit  by  foreign  travel  —  were 
Englishmen.  No  American  would  be  found  upon  the 
soil  of  Europe  so  profoundly  ignorant,  though  he  might 
have  left  home  with  as  little  knowledge.  He  would 
have  bolted  the  contents  of  half  a  dozen  guide-books 
on  the  voyage.  He  would  not  have  been  prevented  by 
pride,  self-love,  indolence,  or  good  breeding,  from  ask- 


272  ENGLISH    IN   ITALY. 

ing  a  thousand  questions  of  every  body  with  an  English 
ear  in  his  head.  But  EngHshmen  dislike  to  ask  or 
answer  questions.  The  ignorance  of  an  American  is 
restless  and  clamorous  :  that  of  an  Englishman,  silent, 
apathetic,  and  hopeless. 

It  would  not  be  fair  to  leave  this  picture  without  its 
lights.  The  growling  discontent  which  an  Englishman 
manifests  in  Italy  is  to  be  explained  and  excused  by 
the  perfect  material  civilization  and  fair  dealing  of  his 
own  country.  Accustomed  to  the  fine  roads,  the  com- 
fortable inns,  the  luxurious  carriages,  the  clean  beds, 
and  the  well-served  tables  of  England,  he  is  thrown 
upon  the  discomforts  of  Italy — dirty  inns,  bad  dinners, 
comfortless  sleeping-rooms,  bells  that  will  not  ring, 
servants  that  will  not  come,  and  horses  that  will  not  go. 
He  exchanges  quiet  efficiency  for  noisy  inefficiency. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  bustle,  much  loud  promising, 
vehement  asseveration,  and  energetic  gesticulation  ;  but 
the  thing  to  be  done  is  not  done.  Accustomed  to  deal 
with  men  who  have  but  one  price  for  their  goods,  he 
finds  that  an  Italian  shopkeeper  begins  by  asking  double 
the  sum  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  take.  He  passes 
from  a  land  where  minutes  are  precious  to  one  where 
time  is  of  no  value.  Born  in  a  country  where  a  trades- 
man or  a  mechanic  has  not  broken  an  appointment 
since  the  Norman  Conquest,  he  is  involved  in  a  perfect 
network  of  lying,  shuffling,  equivocation,  and  excuse- 
making.  Engagements  are  not  kept :  work  is  not  sent 
home  at  the  promised  time  :  no  man  is  as  good  as  his 
word  :  the  moral  relation  established  by  a  contract  is 
an  unknown  quantity.  Besides  all  and  above  all,  he  is 
chafed  by  the  absence,  every  where  in  Rome,  of  Eng- 


ENGLISH    IN    ITALY.  273 

lish  comfort  and  English  cleanliness.  Doors  will  not 
shut :  windows  will  not  open :  fireplaces  will  not 
warm  :  walls  will  not  keep  out  the  wind  :  streets  and 
staircases  are  filthy  :  carpets  are  unclean  :  beds  are 
suspicious.  Something  must  be  pardoned  to  the  spirit 
of  English  order  and  English  neatness.  The  English- 
man in  Italy  brings  with  him  a  standard  of  civilization, 
by  which  his  experiences  are  tried.  He  cannot  make 
up  his  body  to  submit  to  annoyances  and  discomforts, 
because  he  has  not  previously  made  up  his  mind.  The 
same  person  who  frets  at  tough  chickens  and  damp 
sheets  at  Viterbo  or  Radicofani,  if  fairly  turned  out 
into  the  woods  and  forced  to  sleep  under  a  tree,  rolled 
up  in  a  blanket,  would  be  the  most  cheerful  and 
uncomplaining  of  men. 

The  English  in  Italy,  as  on  the  Continent  generally, 
are  not  liked  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  never 
despised.  They  carry  about  with  them  the  impress  of 
qualities  which  extort  respect,  not  unmingled  with  fear. 
Too  proud  to  stoop  and  too  cold  to  sympathize,  they 
are  too  honest  to  flatter  and  too  brave  to  dissemble. 
Truth,  courage,  and  justice  —  those  lion  virtues  that 
stand  round  the  throne  of  national  greatness  —  shape 
their  blunt  manners  and  their  downright  speech.  No 
thoughtful  Italian  can  help  honoring  the  tenacity  with 
which  an  Englishman  clings  to  his  own  convictions  of 
what  is  right  and  becoming,  without  regard  to  the  judg- 
ments which  others  may  form  or  express  ;  nor  can  he 
fail  to  confess  that  the  position  and  influence  of  Italy 
would  have  been  far  different,  had  more  of  that  manly 
element  been  mingled  in  the  blood  of  her  people. 
Every  conscientious  Catholic  must  needs  respect  the 

VOL.  II.  18 


274  ENGLISH    IN    ITALY. 

fidelity  which  Englishmen  shew  to  the  religious  insti- 
tutions of  their  country  ;  the  regularity  with  which  they 
attend  upon  public  worship  in  the  chapels  of  their  own 
faith ;  and  their  careful  abstinence  from  ordinary 
amusements  and  occupations  on  Sundays.  This  un- 
compromising hold  upon  their  own  interpretation  of 
right  is  sometimes  pushed  to  an  extreme,  and  often 
turns  an  unamiable  aspect  towards  others  ;  but  without 
it  there  is  neither  national  greatness  nor  individual 
worth. 

The  English  are  proud  of  their  own  country,  and  for 
that,  surely,  no  one  can  blame  them.  They  are  proud 
of  its  history,  of  its  literature,  of  its  constitution  ;  and, 
especially,  of  the  rank  it  holds  and  the  power  it  wields 
at  the  present  time.  To  this  national  pride  they  have 
a  fair  right.  A  new  sense  of  the  greatness  of  England 
is  gathered  from  travelling  on  the  Continent;  for  let  an 
Englishman  go  where  he  will,  the  might  and  majesty 
of  his  country  seem  to  be  hanging  over  him  like  an  un- 
seen shield.  Let  but  a  hand  of  violence  be  laid  upon 
an  English  subject,  and  the  great  British  lion,  which 
lies  couchant  in  Downing  Street,  begins  to  utter  men- 
acing growls  and  shake  his  invincible  locks.  An  Eng- 
lish man-of-war  seems  to  be  always  within  one  day's 
sail  of  every  where.  Let  political  agitation  break  out 
in  any  port  on  the  globe,  if  there  be  even  a  roll  of 
English  broadcloth  or  a  pound  of  English  tea  to  be  en- 
dangered thereby,  within  forty-eight  hours  an  English 
steamer  or  frigate  is  pretty  sure  to  drop  anchor  in  the 
harbor,  with  an  air  which  seems  to  say,  '  Here  I  am  : 
does  any  body  want  any  thing  of  me  ?  ' 


STEEPLE-CHASE    ON    THE    CAMPAGNA. 
STEEPLE    CHASE    ON    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

The  English  are  remarkable,  among  other  things, 
for  the  energy  and  spirit  with  which  they  transport  their 
amusements  into  foreign  countries.  These  are  neither 
simple  nor  unexpensive ;  and  a  good  deal  of  the  na- 
tional resolution  is  put  forth  in  bringing  English  hounds 
and  English  hunters  to  Rome.  But  the  result  is  such 
as  may  well  make  a  British  heart  swell  with  exulta- 
tion ;  for  now,  on  a  fine  breezy  morning  in  December, 
the  storm  of  an  English  fox-chase  may  be  seen  sweep- 
ing over  the  Campagna  —  huntsmen,  whippers-in, 
earth-stoppers,  and  what  not  —  with  red-coated  gen- 
tlemen that  take  leaps  that  make  an  Italian  turn  pale, 
and  hounds  whose  deep  bay  is  borne  on  the  wind  that 
waves  the  long  grass  on  the  Claudian  aqueduct.  What 
must  have  been  the  sensations  of  the  first  Roman  fox, 
that  looked  forward  to  a  quiet,  domestic  life,  and  to  no 
worse  fate  than  to  be  shot  through  the  head  by  a 
peasant,  when  he  found  his  dreams  rudely  shattered  by 
these  howling  demons,  and  was  forced  to  run  for  life 
across  the  fields  he  had  so  often  traversed  on  a  fearless 
trot !  An  English  fox  seems  born  to  and  prepared  for 
this  inheritance  ;  buttin  Italian  fox  has  had  this  destiny 
thrust  upon  him  by  '  perfidious  Albion.'  Unhappy 
foxes !  your  day  may  come  at  last,  when  it  will  be 
your  privilege,  with  hound  and  horn,  to  chase  middle- 
aged  gentlemen  in  red  coats  and  white-top  boots  over 
some  purgatorial  Campagna. 

I  have  a  distinct  remembrance  of  a  characteristic 
incident  which  I  observed,  on  one  occasion,  before  the 
Pope's  palace  on  the  Quirinal.  A  considerable  num 


276  STEEPLE-CHASE    ON    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

her  of  persons  were  assembled  there,  waiting  to  receive 
the  Pope  with  some  expression  of  admiration,  when  he 
should  appear.  Two  figures  in  red  coats,  passed  slowly 
by  on  horseback,  followed  by  several  hounds.  That 
the  men,  who  were  probably  huntsmen  or  whippers-in, 
should  have  ridden  on  with  the  rigid  impassivity  of 
their  masters  was  to  be  expected,  but  the  hounds  them- 
selves had  caught  from  their  biped  associates  the  trick 
of  silent  indifference,  and  walked  along  with  their  noses 
in  the  air,  looking  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left, 
and  with  a  marked  expression  of  contempt  on  their 
countenances  which  seemed  to  say,  '  What  a  set  of 
snobs  these  are  !  there  is  not  a  man  here  that  an  Eng- 
lish dog,  of  good  family,  ought  ever  to  speak  to.' 

On  Thursday,  February  24th,  1848,  all  the  idlers  in 
Rome  were  swarming  out  to  the  Tor  di  Quinto  to  wit- 
ness an  English  steeple-chase  on  the  soil  of  the  Cam- 
pagna.  How  striking  a  commentary  on  the  changes 
of  time  and  the  altered  fortunes  of  Rome,  do  these 
words  suggest !  What  would  have  been  the  emotions 
of  a  Roman  senator  under  the  empire,  who,  when  re- 
turning from  the  market  where  he  had  bought  a  British 
slave,  with  a  sunflower  painted  on  his  breast,  should 
have  been  told  that  the  Britons  of  a  future  age  would 
come  to  Rome,  not  as  slaves  and  tributaries,  but  with 
the  proud  port  of  masters  and  conquerors,  and  with  a 
haughty  disdain  of  the  effeminate  amusements  of  the 
degenerate  people  of  Romulus,  make  the  legendary 
soil  of  the  Campagna  the  scene  of  their  manly  and 
stirring  sports ! 

The  weather  was  extremely  favorable  for  such  an 
exhibition  ;  the  sky  of  cloudless  blue,  and  the  air  of 


STEEPLE-CHASE    ON    THE    CAMPAGNA.  277 

that  happy  mixture  of  softness  and  freshness  which 
makes  the  early  spring  in  Italy  so  delicious.  The 
place  chosen  was  also  well  suited  for  the  purpose, 
being  a  long  stretch  of  level  ground,  commanded  by 
an  elevation  of  considerable  height,  wide  enough  to 
accommodate  all  the  spectators.  On  the  top  of  the  hill 
a  table  with  refreshments  was  spread  under  a  tent 
which  stood  within  a  temporary  enclosure.  This  was 
for  the  benefit  of  the  noblemen  and  gentlemen  who 
presided  over  the  sport,  and  their  guests.  The  rest  of 
the  spectators  distributed  themselves  in  groups  and 
clusters  all  over  the  hill-side  ;  and  the  variety  of  cos- 
tumes and  faces,  with  the  bright  sunshine  and  the  beau- 
tiful slopes  and  undulations  of  the  Campagna,  made  up 
a  picture  well  worth  the  seeking,  even  if  nothing  else 
had  been  proffered.  It  was  amusing  to  watch  the  par- 
ties as  they  appeared  and  arranged  themselves  upon 
the  hill  —  here,  an  English  family,  known  by  their 
pure  complexions,  their  full  forms,  their  spotless  dra- 
pery, and  their  impassive  countenances ;  commonly  at- 
tended by  a  tall  servant  with  a  basket  of  provisions  — 
there,  a  knot  of  German  students,  studying  with  admir- 
ing glances  the  fine  colors  in  some  fair  Anglo-Saxon 
face  —  here,  a  group  of  young  Italians  talking  loudly 
and  gesticulating  earnestly  —  and  there,  a  peasant 
girl,  with  large  brown  eyes  dilated  with  wonder  and 
curiosity. 

The  first  performance  was  a  donkey-race,  which 
served  to  amuse  the  spectators  and  keep  them  in  good 
humor.  The  sturdy  little  quadrupeds  —  horses  trans- 
lated into  Dutch,  as  Jean  Paul  calls  them  —  laid  hold  of 
the  ground  well,  and  seemed  to  feel  the  spirit  of  the 


278  STEEPLE-CHASE    ON    THE    CAMPAGNA. 

contest.  Then  came  the  steeple-chase  itself.  A  cir- 
cuitous line  of  some  two  or  three  miles  in  length  had 
been  marked  out,  over  which  the  horses  were  to  run  ; 
and  by  way  of  increasing  the  natural  difficulties  in  the 
way,  several  artificial  obstructions,  in  the  shape  of 
fences  and  ditches  of  various  kinds,  had  been  inter- 
posed. Some  half  a  dozen  horses,  with  riders  in  red 
jackets  and  buckskin  breeches,  started  in  the  race. 
The  whole  course  lay  open  to  the  eye  ;  but  the  distance 
was  so  considerable  that  the  horses  and  their  riders 
were  shrunk  to  half  the  natural  size.  There  was 
enough  of  danger  in  the  enterprise  to  infuse  a  strong 
element  of  excitement  into  the  minds  of  the  spectators. 
The  horses  ran  beautifully  and  took  fearful  leaps  ;  and 
both  they  and  their  riders  met  with  serious  falls  ;  but 
happily  no  bones  were  broken,  though  sometimes  the 
men's  limbs  seemed  folded  up  like  a  carpenter's  rule. 
But  luckily  the  soil  of  the  Campagna  is  soft.  At  each 
of  the  artificial  barriers  one  or  more  of  the  horses  tum- 
bled over,  and  seemed  to  give  the  thing  up  as  a  bad 
job  ;  and,  if  I  remember  right,  not  one  of  the  riders 
kept  his  saddle  the  whole  time.  After  it  was  over,  the 
rider  of  the  winning  horse  was  brought  up  in  triumph 
to  the  tent.  His  clothes  and  face  were  plentifully 
stained  with  variations  of  each  soil  he  had  passed  over, 
and  he  might,  as  he  stood,  have  done  good  service  in  a 
geological  museum.  The  saying,  that  it  takes  all  sorts 
of  people  to  make  a  world,  is  accepted  as  a  sufficient 
explanation  of  every  form  of  eccentric  madness ;  and 
under  this  comprehensive  mantle  even  steeple-chases 
may  be  included.  But  was  there  ever  a  more  senseless 
and  fool-hardy  pastime  among  civilized  man  than  this, 


STEEPLE-CHASE    ON    THE    CAMPAGNA.  279 

in  which  the  most  fearful  risks  are  encountered  without 
the  spur  of  duty,  the  meed  of  applause,  or  the  love  of 
gain  ?  What  an  epitaph  for  the  monument  of  an  Eng- 
lishman—  living  in  a  land  so  teeming  with  opportunities 
for  usefulness  and  happiness  —  that  he  broke  his  neck 
in  trying  to  jump  his  horse  over  a  hurdle,  while  riding 
a  steeple-chase.  That  a  Roman  nobleman  or  gentle- 
man should  be  willing  to  encourage  a  sport  which 
would  stand  a  chance  to  get  him  out  of  the  world  with- 
out the  shame  and  guilt  of  suicide,  would  not  be  so 
surprising ;  but,  in  general,  the  more  degraded  and 
worthless  a  life  is,  the  more  it  is  clung  to.  In  such  a 
spectacle  the  eloquent  Pascal  would  see  a  new  proof  of 
the  fallen  nature  of  man,  and  that  weariness  of  life 
which  is  its  perpetual  attendant  and  penalty  —  that 
deep  thirst  of  discontent,  which  drives  its  victim  into 
the  excitements  of  guilt  and  danger,, but  can  never  be 
slaked  but  at  those  primal  fountains  of  truth,  from 
which  the  infant  steps  of  humanity  had  wandered. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Houses  in  Rome  —  Inhabitants  of  Rome  —  Site  and  Climate  of  Rome  —  Mala- 
ria—  Noble  Families  of  Rome  —  Tragical  Story  of  the  Savelli  Family. 


HOUSES    IN    ROME. 

THE  houses  in  Rome,  as  is  the  case  in  most  conti- 
nental cities,  are  so  arranged  that  each  story  forms  an 
entire  residence  of  itself;  the  common  staircase  serving 
the  purpose  of  a  street.  This  staircase  is  often  not 
closed  at  all,  and  is  always  kept  open  till  a  late  hour. 
They  are  rarely  lighted,  except  by  a  -solitary  lamp  on 
the  ground-floor  ;  so  that  provident  persons  usually 
carry  a  coil  of  wax-taper  in  the  pocket,  to  be  lighted 
at  night  before  ascending.  The  steps  of  the  staircases 
are  invariably  of  stone  ;  and,  generally,  very  dirty. 
For  ladies  who  have  delicate  lungs  and  white  dresses, 
it  requires  no  little  resolution  to  climb  up  to  the  fourth 
story  of  a  high  Roman  house.  The  residents  in  such 
airy  regions  console  themselves  with  the  compensating 
thought,  that  when  they  have  once  reached  their  home 
they  have  no  more  upward  steps  to  take.  In  general, 
the  higher  the  situation,  the  healthier.  In  cold  and 
stormy  weather,  beggars  often  coil  themselves  up  in 


HOUSES    IN    ROME.  281 

the  corners  of  these  staircases  and  pass  the  night  there. 
Assassins  sometimes  lie  in  wait  there  for  their  victims, 
led  by  jealousy  or  revenge.  The  Romans  treasure  up 
a  wrong,  and  patiently  wait  for  an  opportunity  of  re- 
quital. Especially,  let  no  man  ever  be  provoked  to 
strike  a  Roman  of  the  lower  orders  ;  for  that  is  an 
insult  which  nothing  but  blood  will  wash  out. 

Many  things  at  Rome  betray  a  general  sense  of  mu- 
tual insecurity  and  distrust ;  on  reaching  the  outer  door 
of  a  suite  of  apartments,  there  are  no  means  of  opening 
it  from  the  outside,  but  the  visitor,  whoever  he  may  be, 
must  ring  the  bell,  which  is  commonly  sounded  by 
means  of  a  string.  Nor  will  his  summons  be  immedi- 
ately answered.  Sometimes  his  person  will  be  recon- 
noitred through  a  bit  of  glass  or  grating  arranged  for 
the  purpose,  and  sometimes  he  will  hear  a  voice  calling 
upon  him  to  declare  who  he  is.  To  this  summons  the 
usual  answer  is,  '  Amici,'  *  friends. 

Here  I  may  venture  to  tear  a  leaf  or  two  out  of  the 
volume  of  my  own  personal  experience.  Two  of  my 
friends  and  myself  formed  a  common  household  during 
the  three  months  of  my  residence  in  Rome.  We  hired 
a  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Via  San  Bastianello  —  a  very 
short  street  which  runs  out  of  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  — 
for  which  we  paid  eighty  scudi  a  month,  which  included 
the  care  of  the  rooms.  The  apartments  were  on  the 
secondo  piano,  or  third  story,  as  we  should  call  it. 
There  was  a  family  living  above  us,  and  another  below, 
but  we  never  met  them,  and  for  several  weeks  did  not 


*  '  Amico,'   the  singular,   means  something  more  than  a 
friend. 


282  HOUSES    IN    ROME. 

know  their  names.  On  opening  the  outer  door,  we 
passed  into  an  entry  of  moderate  size,  from  which  doors 
opened  into  a  bed-room,  a  drawing-room,  and  a  small 
kitchen.  The  drawing-room  was  a  spacious  apartment 
of  about  thirty  feet  by  twenty,  handsomely  carpeted 
and  furnished.  It  had  but  one  defect  —  it  was  difficult 
to  keep  it  warm  in  damp  and  cold  weather.  The  fire- 
place was  ludicrously  unsuited  to  perform  the  proper 
functions  of  a  fireplace  ;  being  a  mere  hole,  or  deep 
oven,  scooped  out  of  the  chimney,  at  the  end  of  which 
the  fire  nestled  in  modest  obscurity.  We  were  obliged 
in  the  early  days  of  our  housekeeping,  to  summon  in  a 
mason  to  remedy  some  defect  in  this  fireplace,  who 
proved  himself  to  be  possessed  of  those  two  very  com- 
prehensive faults  which  some  wit  ascribed  to  his  horse 
—  that  he  was  very  hard  to  catch,  and  good  for  nothing 
when  caught. 

From  the  drawing-room  a  door  led  into  a  small 
dining-room,  and  beyond  the  dining-room  were  three 
bedrooms  opening  into  each  other,  with  windows  look- 
ing out  upon  the  court-yard.  These  bedrooms  were 
rather  dark  and  cheerless  in  their  aspect.  Many  things 
were  wanting  in  finish,  and  shewed  no  very  high  stand- 
ard of  material  civilization.  The  hinges  of  the  doors 
were  not  like  ours,  but  like  the  bolts  on  which  window- 
blinds  are  hung  ;  so  that  when  the  door  was  thrown 
back,  it  fell  out  of  the  perpendicular.  The  tongs  in 
the  dining-room  were  composed  of  a  solid  piece  of 
iron,  bent  round  ;  and  a  considerable  force  was  neces- 
sary to  bring  the  ends  together  so  as  to  grasp  a  brand. 


INHABITANTS    OF    ROME.  283 

INHABITANTS    OF    ROME. 

The  inhabitants  of  Rome  are  divided  into  three 
classes  or  divisions ;  the  Trasteverini,  who  live  on  the 
right  bank  of  the  Tiber;  the  Monteggiani,  who  dwell 
on  the  hills ;  and  the  Popolanti,  who  occupy  the  low 
grounds  of  the  Campus  Martius  and  its  neighborhood. 
It  is  said  that  a  trained  ear  can  detect  peculiarities  of 
speech  and  enunciation  by  which  each  is  distinguished 
from  the  others.  In  general,  the  language  is  spoken 
in  Rome  with  a  fulness  and  metallic  ring  not  usual 
among  northern  nations,  and  resembling  the  rich  vo- 
calization of  Italian  singers.  The  mouth  is  opened 
more  widely  than  at  the  north,  and  the  volume  of 
sound  projected  has  more  body  and  strikes  more  round- 
ly upon  the  ear.  The  letter  R  is  ejaculated  with  great 
force.  Milton,  in  his  treatise  on  Education,  makes  an 
observation  undoubtedly  suggested  by  his  own  com- 
parison of  the  manner  of  speaking  in  Italy  with  that 
in  England.  '  For  we  Englishmen,  being  far  northerly, 
do  not  open  our  mouths  in  the  cold  air  wide  enough 
to  grace  a  southern  tongue ;  but  are  observed  by  all 
other  nations  to  speak  exceeding  close  and  inward.' 
In  the  quality  and  tone  of  the  voice,  the  men  have  gen- 
erally the  advantage  of  the  women.  In  music,  the 
barytone  is  the  common  voice  among  men;  and  the 
contralto,  among  women. 

In  walking  the  streets  of  Rome,  fine  and  expressive 
countenances  are  frequently  to  be  seen,  both  among 
the  country  people  and  the  residents  themselves.  A 
stranger,  however,  might  pass  many  weeks  there,  and 
have  no  opportunity  of  judging  of  the  amount  of  female 


284  INHABITANTS    OF    ROME. 

beauty,  because  the  women  of  the  higher  and  middle 
classes  are  not  much  given  to  walking  in  the  streets. 
There  are  always  three  or  four  times  as  many  men  as 
women  to  be  seen,  even  in  good  weather.  The  win- 
dows of  the  Corso  in  the  Carnival  were  a  new  revela- 
tion to  me  on  this  head.  The  two  points  in  Europe, 
where  the  rays  of  beauty  converge  to  the  most  glitter- 
ing focus  are,  probably,  the  Roman  carnival  and  the 
London  opera  house.  The  English  and  Roman  women 
have  a  common  resemblance  in  the  fact  that  they  are 
seen  to  the  best  advantage  when  seated. 

The  features  of  the  Roman  women  are  generally 
regular,  and  the  shape  of  the  face  more  inclined  to  the 
square  than  the  oval.  The  hair,  rich,  black,  and  full, 
is  braided  and  knotted  in  a  becoming  and  picturesque 
fashion.  The  forehead  is  low,  broad,  and  firm ;  an- 
swering in  its  expression  to  the  lower  part  of  the  face, 
which  is  massive  and  compact.  The  eye  is  large  and 
finely  set  in  its  socket.  The  teeth,  arms,  and  bust  are 
fine ;  but  the  hands  and  feet,  especially  the  latter, 
large  ;  and  the  whole  frame  somewhat  too  sturdy  and 
compact.  The  nose  is  large  and  almost  invariably 
straight  or  aquiline.  A  clever  Scotchwoman  once  re- 
marked, in  a  mixed  party  of  Italians  and  English,  that 
she  and  her  countrymen  looked  like  restored  busts, 
with  noses  too  small.  The  upper  lip  is  often  shaded 
with  something  more  than  the  suspicion  of  a  moustache. 

What  is  most  wanting  in  the  Roman  women  is  an 
expression  of  softness,  delicacy,  and  refinement.  As 
the  men  there  are  like  women,  so  the  women  are  like 
men.  The  complexion  is  more  like  the  rich  rind  of  a 
ripe  fruit  than  the  transparent  veil  of  passing  emotions 


SITE   AND   CLIMATE   OF   ROME.  285 

which  play  and  vanish  like  auroral  gleams.  The  eyes 
shine  with  a  fixed,  external  light,  like  that  of  glass  or 
polished  metal ;  and  do  not  darken  with  sensibility. 
The  lips  are  firm  and  not  tremulous. 

I  have  often  stopped  to  look  at  the  nurses  who  were 
in  attendance  upon  their  young  charges,  in  fine  weather, 
upon  the  Pincian  Hill.  Their  heads,  never  defaced 
with  a  bonnet,  seemed  made  and  dressed  to  go  into 
a  picture.  The  hair,  of  rich  lustrous  black,  lay  in 
massive  braids,  and  was  gathered  into  a  knot  behind, 
pierced  with  a  silver  arrow.  The  complexion,  of  a 
glowing,  gypsy  yellow  —  such  as  only  Titian  could 
paint  —  was  in  harmony  with  the  gay  boddice  and 
streaming  belt  ribbon.  The  face,  square  in  outline 
and  compact  in  structure,  wore  the  impassive  expres- 
sion of  a  marble  bust.  But  the  large,  brown  eyes  were 
animated  with  a  strange  mixture  of  animal  tenderness 
and  animal  fierceness  —  like  those  of  a  tigress  fondling 
her  cubs.  Passion  and  peril  lay  slumbering  in  their 
depths.  It  was  a  volcanic  face,  which,  at  a  moment's 
warning,  might  break  out  in  explosions  of  love,  hatred, 
jealousy,  or  revenge.  Thus  Semiramis  might  have 
looked,  while  yet  a  shepherd's  daughter  ;  or  Charlotte 
Corday,  while  dreaming  in  the  woods  of  Normandy, 
before  the  air-drawn  dagger  marshalled  her  the  way 
to  Paris. 


SITE    AND    CLIMATE    OF    ROME. 

The  site  of  Rome  is  not  particularly  adapted  to  the 
metropolis  of  a  great  empire.  It  was  selected,  partly 
because  here  was  found  the  first  rising  ground  above 


286  SITE    AND    CLIMATE    OF    ROME. 

the  mouth  of  the  Tiber,  which  was  also  navigable  dur- 
ing the  intermediate  course ;  and  partly  on  account  of 
the  capacity  of  defence  furnished  by  the  rocky  emi- 
nence of  the  Capitoline  Hill  and  the  swamps  around  it. 
The  many  towns  in  Europe,  especially  in  Italy,  which 
are  perched,  like  eagles'  nests,  on  the  top  of  craggy 
elevations,  so  that  the  inhabitants  are  obliged  to  drag 
every  thing,  even  water,  up  hill,  recall  a  period  when 
protection  against  violence  was  the  first  consideration. 
Such  a  position  was  of  peculiar  importance  to  the  first 
settlers  of  Rome,  a  band  of  outlaws  and  adventurers 
who  held  by  the  strong  hand,  and  with  whom  might 
was  right.  There  were  two  disadvantages,  especially, 
in  the  spot  on  which  Rome  was  founded ;  its  swampy 
character  made  it  unhealthy  ;  and  it  was  liable  to  most 
disastrous  inundations  of  the  river.  The  Cloaca  Maxi- 
ma is  a  proof,  not  only  of  the  energies  and  resources 
of  that  early  period,  but  of  the  urgent  need  which, 
from  sanitary  reasons,  impelled  to  it.  Time  has  mod- 
ified the  former  of  these  defects,  but  not  the  latter. 
The  overflowings  of  the  Tiber  are  still  a  frequent  and 
serious  evil ;  and  the  more  mischievous  in  proportion 
to  the  amount  of  property  exposed  to  destruction.  The 
low  and  tame  hills,  over  which  the  buildings  of  Rome 
slowly  straggled,  must  have  suffered  by  contrast  with 
the  splendid  mountain  ranges  to  the  East.  It  is  no 
wonder,  that,  as  Goethe  says,  the  Alban  women,  lan- 
guishing in  the  fogs  of  the  Tiber,  looked  with  tearful 
eyes  towards  the  breezy  mountain  home  from  which 
they  had  been  torn. 

The  climate  of  Rome  and  its  immediate  neighbor- 
hood can  never  have  been  truly  healthy.     Sanitary 


SITE    AND    CLIMATE    OF    ROME.  287 

statistics  were  unknown  among  the  ancients ;  and  we 
can  only  conjecture,  by  the  frequent  hints  and  state- 
ments in  Roman  authors,  that  fevers  were  common 
and  violent  then  as  now.  The  old  Romans  were  less 
sensitive  to  atmospheric  influences  than  their  succes- 
sors; partly  because  of  their  general  use  of  woollen 
clothing  next  the  skin,  and  partly  because  their  system 
of  gymnastic  training  made  the  body  a  more  powerful 
weapon  both  of  attack  and  defence.  Besides,  the 
modern  brain  and  nervous  system,  exposed  to  so  many 
stimulating  influences,  has  become  of  a  more  suscep- 
tible fibre  than  in  the  days  when  bread  and  the  circus 
rounded  the  whole  circle  of  life. 

The  climate  of  Rome  is  soft,  rather  damp,  and,  for 
a  European  climate,  variable.  The  whole  basin  of  the 
Tiber  is  ramparted  on  the  north-east  by  the  chain  of 
the  Apennines,  and  open  on  the  south-west  to  the  Med- 
iterranean. It  is  thus  exposed  to  the  dry  north  wind, 
called  the  tramontana,  which  comes  down  chilled  with 
mountain-snows;  and  to  the  south-west,  which  brings 
the  heat  of  Africa.  These  winds  often  succeed  each 
other  with  a  rapidity  which  reminds  an  American  of 
the  changes  of  his  own  country,  but  they  seldom  blow 
violently.  In  summer,  the  south-west  wind,  then  called 
the  scirocco,  diffuses  a  close,  damp,  penetrating  heat. 
The  limbs  are  bathed  in  perspiration  which  no  evapo- 
ration carries  off,  and  to  which  night  brings  little  relief. 
The  nervous  system  is  unstrung,  and  a  listless  apathy 
takes  possession  of  mind  and  body.  The  dampness  of 
the  climate  arises  not  only  from  the  neighborhood  of 
the  sea  and  the  extent  of  lakes  and  marshes,  but  from 
the  fact  that  the  clouds,  wafted  by  the  prevalent  south- 


288  SITE    AND    CLIMATE    OF    ROME. 

west  winds,  are  driven  back  and  chilled  by  the  peaks 
of  the  Apennines,  and  fall  in  showers  upon  the  plains. 
Snow  falls  occasionally  in  the  winter,  but  so  sel- 
dom, that  when  it  does  take  place,  the  schools  are 
dismissed  that  the  children  may  have  the  rare  and 
short-lived  pleasure  of  dabbling  in  it.  Two  or  three 
times  in  the  course  of  an  average  life,  the  lake  in  the 
grounds  of  the  Villa  Borghese  is  covered  with  ice  thick 
enough  to  allow  of  skating.  In  January  and  February, 
when  the  clear  air  allows  a  passage  to  the  rays  of  the 
sun,  the  temperature  is  mild  and  genial.  Jn  the  last 
week  of  February  a  vernal  influence  is  felt  in  the 
breeze.  The  violet  peeps  forth  under  the  sheltered 
hedges,  and  the  turf  puts  on  a  livelier  green.  The 
month  of  April  is  delightful  —  the  '  ver  novum  '  of  the 
Latin,  and  the  '  primavera '  of  the  Italian  poets.  In 
May  the  heat  begins  to  be  oppressive.  The  harvest 
commences  about  the  middle  of  June,  and  its  labors, 
threshing  included,  usually  lasts  about  three  weeks. 
From  the  early  part  of  July  to  the  middle  of  Septem- 
ber is  a  period  which,  in  its  effects  upon  man  and  his 
works,  is  more  like  a  northern  winter  than  the  proper 
winter  months  themselves.  The  extreme  heat  has 
the  paralyzing  and  disabling  effect  of  extreme  cold. 
The  fields  are  parched  and  dead,  and  the  trees  look 
as  if  the  breath  of  fire  had  blasted  them.  The  baked 
and  cracked  soil  is  lifted  and  whirled  about  in  clouds 
of  dust.  No  sound  of  animal  life  breaks  the  desert 
silence,  for  even  the  birds  cease  to  sing.  The  heavens 
are  of  a  deep  cloudless  blue,  but  are  often  suddenly 
overcast  with  a  dense  mass  of  clouds  which  pour  down 
copious  floods  of  rain,  attended  with  heavy  thunder  and 


SITE    AND    CLIMATE    OF    ROME.  289 

lightning.  Even  in  summer,  the  tramontana  some- 
times sets  in  suddenly,  after  the  scirocco  has  been 
blowing  for  three  or  four  days  —  the  thermometer  falls 
many  degrees,  and  great  caution  is  requisite  to  avoid 
the  danger  of  a  sudden  chill  to  the  relaxed  frame. 
October  is  the  most  delightful  month  in  the  whole  year 
in  Rome.  It  is  the  birth  of  a  second  spring. '  Re- 
freshed by  the  rains  of  early  autumn,  the  earth  is  once 
more  clothed  with  green.  The  flocks  and  herds  come 
down  to  the  low  grounds  of  the  Campagna,  and  the 
vintagers  bring  home  their  rich  spoils.  It  is  the  month 
of  fetes  and  festivals,  of  songs  and  dances.  The  com- 
mon people  of  Rome  go  out  to  the  Monte  Testaceo, 
and  amuse  themselves  with  games  and  sports.  The 
rich  nobleman  opens  his  villa  and  invites  his  friends 
to  share  the  pleasures  of  a  brief  villegiatura. 

The  period  of  my  own  residence  in  Rome  fell  within 
a  remarkably  rainy  season.  From  my  brief  experience 
I  should  say,  that  the  climate  is  depressing  and  ener- 
vating, and  not  at  all  favorable  to  diseases  of  the  ner- 
vous system  or  of  the  digestive  organs.  I  have  never 
been  in  any  place  where  I  felt  so  little  disposed  to  do 
any  work,  whether  of  mind  or  body.  It  sometimes  re- 
quired a  vigorous  moral  effort  to  write  even  a  letter. 
The  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  day  after  day  of  drizzly 
rain  —  a  dull  gray  sky  above  and  yellow  mud  below  — 
and  that  too  in  a  city  never  over-cheerful  in  its  influ- 
ences —  is  most  dismal.  One  sees  his  own  long  face 
reflected  in  those  of  all  his  friends  and  countrymen. 
How  often  under  these  shadows  have  I  wished  for  one 
of  our  winter  days  of  clear  crystal  cold,  in  which  the 
electric  air  sends  the  blood  dancing  and  tingling  through 

VOL.  11.  19 


MALARIA. 

the  veins,  and  charges  the  brain  and  frame  with  energy 
and  endurance  !  On  the  other  hand,  the  Roman  climate 
is  favorable  to  bronchial -affections  and  to  consumption 
in  its  earlier  stages  ;  and  the  inhabitants,  whether  resi- 
dents or  foreigners,  are  exempted  from  those  heavy 
colds  so  common  in  our  sharp  atmosphere. 

MALARIA. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  malaria  of  Rome, 
but  the  subject  is  not  yet  entirely  clear  ;  and  those  in- 
quirers whose  opinions  are  entitled  to  the  most  respect 
are  not  agreed  as  to  the  causes  of  the  phenomena,  the 
existence  of  which  all  admit.  In  such  investigations,  it 
is  important  to  distinguish  between  the  influences  which 
are  peculiar  to  Rome,  and  those  which  it  shares  with 
other  places  similarly  situated.  The  case  may  be  thus 
briefly  stated.  Those  exposures  which  ordinarily  lead 
to  colds  or  rheumatic  attacks,  in  Rome,  especially  in 
the  summer  fhonths,  bring  on  intermittent  fevers  which 
easily  assume  a  malignant  type.  There  are  "some  pe- 
culiarities in  the  climate  of  Rome  and  the  way  of  life 
there,  which  expose  young  and  incautious  travellers  to 
sudden  changes  of  temperature.  The  climate  itself  is 
variable.  Then,  the  difference  between  the  sunny  and 
the  shady  side  of  the  street  is  very  great.  Sometimes 
the  mere  turning  of  a  corner  brings  one  into  a  tempera- 
ture many  degrees  lower  or  higher  than  that  just  left. 
Italians  avoid  the  sunny  side  of  the  street  in  walking, 
in  winter  as  well  as  in  summer.  The  habit  of  making 
excursions  partly  in  a  carriage  and  partly  on  foot,  is 
dangerous.  The  churches  and  picture-galleries  are 


MALARIA.  291 

• 

damp  and  cold,  and  the  stone  or  marble  floors  are 
deadly  chilling  to  the  feet,  unless  protected  by  soles  of 
extra  thickness.  If  the  adventurous  traveller  extends 
his  researches  further,  and  goes  down  into  vaults, 
onibs,  catacombs,  and  recent  excavations,  the  danger 
arising  from  sudden  changes  of  temperature  becomes 
of  course  increased.  But  this  danger,  in  its  milder 
forms,  can  hardly  be  escaped  at  Rome  ;  for,  in  general, 
in  passing  out  of  the  street  into  a  house,  the  frame  is 
sensible  of  a  slight  chill. 

But,  besides  the  above,  there  is  in  Rome,  and  espe- 
cially in  its  neighborhood,  between  the  months  of  June 
and  October,  a  certain  deadly  influence  evolved  from 
the  soil,  which  strikes  upon  the  exposed  frame  with 
generally  fatal  effect.  This  morbific  agency  is  most 
formidable  after  sunset,  and  seizes  upon  the  system 
most  strongly  when  in  a  state  of  sleep.  This  principle 
of  disease  is  called  out  from  the  soil  by  the  action  of 
the  sun,  and  produces  effects  similar  in  kind,  though 
inferior  in  degree,  to  the  fever  and  ague  which  pursues 
the  new  settlers  in  our  country,  wherever  moist  ground 
is  exposed  to  the  sun,  and  large  masses  of  vegetable 
matter  are  left  to  decay.  The  subtle  element  of  death 
eludes  detection,  because  the  nicest  analysis  fails  to 
discover  any  different  ingredients  in  the  air  of  the  most 
infected  from  that  of  the  healthiest  regions. 

Within  the  city,  it  is  observed,  as  a  general  rule,  but 
not  without  some  exceptions,  that  the  more  tasteful  and 
desirable  the  region  is,  the  more  dangerous  is  it  during 
the  infected  season.  Almost  all  the  open  spaces,  espe- 
cially if  left  uncultivated,  are  unsafe.  This  is  true  of 
that  part  of  the  city  which  lies  between  Santa  Maria 


292  MALARIA. 

Maggiore  and  St.  John  Lateran,  and  around  the  latter 
church  —  a  region  which  has  the  most  inviting  look  of 
peace  and  gentleness,  but  smiles  only  to  destroy.  The 
Piazza  del  Popolo  and  the  Pincian  Hill  are  not  without 
suspicion.  The  same  remark  applies  to  the  Vatican 
and  St.  Peter's.  On  the  other  hand,  where  the  popula- 
tion is  most  dense,  and  the  greatest  number  of  fires  are 
lighted,  the  air  is  the  most  wholesome.  The  Ghetto, 
or  Jews  quarter,  the  most  crowded,  filthy,  and  repulsive 
part  of  Rome,  is  always  exempt  from  malaria. 

In  general,  the  higher  the  position,  the  healthier. 
From  the  Alban  Mount,  in  summer,  a  thick  mist  is 
often  seen  to  hang  over  Rome,  above  which  the  high 
grounds  and  the  upper  stories  are  seen  to  emerge. 
The  upper  stories  of  a  high  house  are  healthier  than  the 
ground-floor,  especially  if  they  are  exposed  to  the  sun, 
and  command  a  free  circulation  of  air.  Monte  Mario, 
which  is  about  four  hundred  feet  above  the  plain,  is  in- 
habitable during  the  whole  year.  The  Romans  have  a 
graduated  scale  of  degrees  of  salubrity  and  insalubrity, 
generally  corresponding  to  higher  or  lower  elevations. 
The  lowest  point  is,  1'  aria  pessirna,  then,  1'  aria  cattiva, 
then,  P  aria  sospetta,  then,  1'  aria  sufficiente,  then,  1'  aria 
buona,  and  lastly,  1'  aria  fina  or  ottima. 

Houses  which  lie  in  the  cold  shadow  of  a  hill,  so 
that  the  free  circulation  of  air  is  impeded,  are  more 
unhealthy  than  those  which  have  clear  spaces  all 
around  them.  Sometimes  it  happens  that  the  houses 
on  one  side  of  a  street  are  more  healthy  than  those  on 
the  other.  Such  is  said  to  be  the  case  with  the  Via 
Babuino.  Even  a  difference  is  sometimes  found  be- 
tween the  back  and  front  apartments  of  the  same 
house. 


MALARIA.  293 

The  principle  of  malaria,  wafted  through  the  air, 
seems  to  be  in  some  measure  arrested  by  material  ob- 
structions. A  range  of  hills  often  acts  as  a  partial  pro- 
tection. Piperno,  for  instance,  is  healthier  than  Sezza, 
though  at  a  lower  elevation  ;  because  the  former  is 
separated  from  the  Pontine  marshes  by  a  piece  of  rising 
ground.  A  screen  of  woods  operates  in  the  same  man- 
ner. The  cutting  down  of  the  extensive  forests  of  pine 
which  once  bordered  the  seacoast  of  Latium,  is  be- 
lieved to  have  rendered  the  Campagria  more  unhealthy. 
Tournon  relates,  that  the  rumor  of  a  project  of  cutting 
down  a  range  of  wood  which  protected  Alba'no  on  the 
south  alarmed  the  inhabitants  so  much  that  they  went 
in  crowds  before  the  French  authorities  to  protest 
against  the  measure.  Sir  George  Head  found  a  priest 
living  with  security  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Palatine, 
upon  a  spot  which  had  been  abandoned  for  many  years 
on  account  of  its  unhealthiness.  He  attributed  its  im- 
proved condition  to  a  thriving  grove  of  orange-trees. 

Superficial  moisture  is  not  a  prominent  source  of  ma- 
laria. The  Campagna  is,  as  a  general  rule,  quite  the 
reverse  of  a  marshy  or  swampy  tract,  but  resembles 
the  downs  of  England  or  the  prairies  of  our  own  coun- 
try. The  draining  of  the  Pontine  marshes  in  the  last 
century  had  no  perceptible  effect  upon  the  health  of 
Rome.  It  would  seem  that  the  exhalations  forced  up 
through  the  superficial  soil,  from  lower  strata  of  mois- 
ture, by  the  action  of  a  powerful  sun,  are  more  deadly 
than  the  evaporation  of  water  on  the  surface  itself. 
The  observation  of  the  English  army  surgeons  confirms 
this  fact.  It  is  the  same  in  the  fever  and  ague  districts 
of  our  own  country.  The  hot  summers  are  those  in 


294  MALARIA. 

which  the  disease  is  most  formidable,  and  not  the 
damp. 

The  use  of  woollen  clothing  next  the  skin  is  in  some 
measure  a  preventive.  The  monks  of  the  mendicant 
orders,  who  wear,  even  in  summer,  a  robe  of  thick 
woollen,  are  able  to  live  unharmed  in  places  where 
other  persons  are  affected.  Fire  also  acts  as  a  dis- 
infectant. It  is  said  that  a  person  might  sleep  with 
impunity  in  the  deadliest  regions  of  the  Campagna, 
in  the  sickliest  season,  by  keeping  a  large  fire  burning 
in  the  chimney.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  too 
generous  and  stimulating  diet  acts  as  a  protection.  In 
this  as  in  similar  forms  of  disease,  an  anxious  and 
uneasy  apprehension  of  evil  is  a  disposing  cause  to 
its  approach. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  facts  in  the  case  seem  to  war- 
rant the  conclusion  that  the  effects  of  the  malaria  in 
Rome  and  its  neighborhood  are  not  wholly  to  be  ex- 
plained by  general  causes,  such  as  operate  in  the  many 
infected  districts  which  are  scattered  over  the  globe  ; 
but  that,  in  addition  to  these,  there  are  certain  influences 
peculiar  to  this  particular  locality.  These  last  have 
been  sought  in  the  composition  of  the  soil  of  the  Cam- 
pagna, which  is  partly  of  marine  and  partly  of  volcanic 
origin  ;  from  which  it  is  conjectured  that  gaseous  ex- 
halations of  peculiar  malignity  are  forced  from  it  by  the 
action  of  the  sun,  and  mingled  with  the  atmospheric 
air.  The  researches  of  modern  chemistry  and  the  im- 
proved methods  of  analysis  now  in  use  may  throw  some 
light  upon  this  branch  of  the  inquiry. 


NOBLE   FAMILIES    OF    ROME.  295 

4 

NOBLE    FAMILIES    OF    ROME. 

Rome  has  always  been  the  nursery  and  not  the  birth- 
place of  genius  and  greatness.  In  antiquity,  the  leading 
names  of  native  birth  were  Julius  Cresar,  Lucretius, 
and  Tibullus.  In  the  middle  ages  and  in  modern  times, 
the  same  fact  is  observable.  Of  the  churches  and  the 
palaces,  the  paintings  and  the  statues  which  adorn 
Rome,  by  far  the  greater  part  are  the  works  of  foreign 
artists  drawn  to  the  capital  by  the  munificent  patronage 
of  popes,  cardinals,  and  princes.  Of  the  architects, 
Gaddi,  Brunelleschi,  Alberti,  Michael  Angelo,  Amma- 
nati,  were  Florentines  ;  the  Fontanas  were  Milanese  ; 
Sansovino  was  a  Tuscan ;  Palladio  and  Scamozzi  were 
from  Vicenza ;  Bernini  was  a  Neapolitan  ;  Borromini, 
a  Milanese.  Rome  gave  birth  only  to  Giacomo  della 
Porta,  Olivieri,  Soria,  Carlo  Rainaldi,  Antonio  Rossi, 
Geronimo  Teodoli,  Nicholas  Salvi,  Luigi  Vanvitelli ; 
not  one,  of  the  first  class.  The  oldest  of  these  was 
Giacomo  della  Porta,  and  he  was  not  born  till  1543. 

In  painting  and  sculpture  the  disproportion  is  still 
more  curious.  Of  the  painters,  from  Cimabue  to 
Pompeo  Battoni,  the  natives  of  Rome  were  Julio  Ro- 
mano, Gaspar  Poussin,  Giro  Ferri,  Francesco  Trevisani, 
and  Marco  Benefiale  ;  the  last  three,  very  obscure 
names.  Among  the  sculptors,  I  do  not  recall  one  con- 
siderable person  who  was  born  in  Rome.  How  strik- 
ing is  the  wealth  of  Florence  in  comparison  !  Among 
her  native  treasures,  are  Cimabue,  Pinturricchio,  Fra 
Bartolomeo,  Donatello,  Michael  Angelo,  Sansovino, 
Bandinelli,  Benvenuto  Cellini. 

In  literature,  the  most  distinguished  native  name  is 
that  of  Metastasio. 


296  NOBLE    FAMILIES    OF    ROME. 

• 

Rome  has  been  a  second  country  to  many  artists  and 
writers  on  art,  who  have  found  here  the  true  home  of 
their  spirits,  and  have  felt  themselves  exiles  when 
forced  to  leave  it.  Poussin  came  there  at  the  age  of 
thirty,  and  remained  till  his  death  in  his  seventy-first 
year,  with  the  exception  of  a  brief  visit  to  Paris. 
Claude  Lorraine  lived  in  Rome  from  his  twenty- 
seventh  year  till  his  death  in  his  eighty-second.  Mengs 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  Rome,  and  was 
never  happy  out  of  it.  Angelica  Kauffman  lived  there 
the  last  twenty-five  years  of  her  life  ;  Winckelmann 
for  twelve  years,  and  never  could  have  been  content 
any  where  else.  Zoega  came  there  in  1784,  and  remain- 
ed till  1809,  the  time  of  his  death.  Besides  these,  there 
are  Thonvalsden,  Overbeck,  Gibson,  Wolff,  Crawford, 
Reinhart,  Wagner,  Dessoulavy,  and  many  others,  who, 
drawn  to  Rome  as  pilgrims  and  wayfarers,  have  bowed 
to  the  spell  of  her  power,  and  remained  there  as 
sojourners  and  denizens. 

The  great  families  of  Rome  are  in  like  manner 
strangers  to  the  soil :  nearly  all  of  them  have  owed 
their  origin  to  their  relationship  to  the  ecclesiastics, 
who  have  from  time  to  time  been  elevated  to  the  tiara. 
A  few  claim  to  be  descended  from  the  old  Roman 
families  —  Prince  Massimi  from  the  Fabii,  for  instance. 
How  far  such  pretensions  would  be  sanctioned  by  the 
authority  of  a  college  of  antiquarian  heralds  may  be 
well  doubted.  The  two  great  families  of  mediaeval 
Rome,  the  Colonna  and  Orsini  —  whose  feuds  so  often 
shook  the  state  —  still  survive.  Of  the  former,  there  is 
a  branch  in  Rome,  and  another  in  Naples.  Of  the  lat- 


NOBLE  FAMILIES  OF  ROME.          297 

ter,  Prince  Orsini  is  the  senator  of  Rome.*  The  other 
conspicuous  families  of  the  middle  ages,  the  Conti,  the 
Gaetani,  and  the  Savelli,  are,  I  believe,  extinct.  Of 
the  Frangipani,  there  is  a  collateral  branch  remaining 
in  Illyria.  Their  claim  to  be  descended  from  the  Ro- 
man gens  Anicia  is  said  to  be  well  founded. 

The  principal  families  of  papal  origin  now  remaining 
are  Buoncompagni-Ludovisi,  Borghese,  Chigi,  Ros- 
pigliosi,  Altieri,  Odescalchi,  Albani,  Corsini,  Braschi, 
Barberini-Colonna,  and  Pamphili-Doria.  Most  of  these 
are  familiar  sounds  to  strangers  in  Rome,  from  the 
palaces  and  villas  with  which  their  names  are  asso- 
ciated. 

The  two  well-known  families  of  Canino  and  Torlonia 
are  comparatively  of  recent  date.  The  present  Prince 
of  Canino,  well-known  for  his  successful  devotion  to 
science,  is  the  son  of  Lucien  Bonaparte.  He  married 
his  cousin,  the  daughter  of  Joseph  Bonaparte,  and  has 
a  numerous  family.  He  has  been  a  good  deal  mixed 
up  with  the  political  changes  in  Rome  since  the  acces- 
sion of  Pius  IX.,  and  is  reputed  to  have  shewn  mucj^ 
more  activity  than  wisdom  in  public  affairs. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  the  great  banking-house  of 
Torlonia,  and  of  the  brilliant  parties  given  by  its  head, 
to  which  all  the  clients  are  invited  ?  Since  the  days  of 
the  Roman  emperors,  who  taxed  all  the  world,  there 
has  been  nothing  so.  comprehensive  as  the  percentage 


*  The  prince  married  a  daughter  of  Torlonia,  the  banker. 
The  family  had  become  reduced  in  circumstances  ;  and  on  the 
occasion  of  this  marriage  it  was  said,  that  an  ancient  statue 
had  been  set  up  on  a  pedestal  of  gold. 


298  NOBLE    FAMILIES    OF    ROJIE. 

of  the  Torlonias.  Men  of  all  climes  and  colors  and 
tongues  have  paid  tribute  at  their  counters.  Their 
waters  are  deep  enough  for  a  millionaire  to  swim  in, 
and  yet  so  shallow  as  not  to  drown  the  poor  artist  who 
comes  into  Rome  with  a  knapsack  on  his  back.  The 
founder  of  the  family,  generally  known  as  the  Duke  of 
Bracciano,  died  in  1829.  He  was  one  of  that  class  of 
men  who  combine  great  financial  skill  and  shrewd 
business  tact  with  a  rough  and  coarse  nature,  and  who 
in  their  prosperity  are  rather  inclined  to  parade  their 
roughness  and  coarseness  as  ornaments  than  hide  them 
as  defects.  He  had  also  a  v.ein  of  biting  humor,  and 
used  to  enjoy  in  his  cynical  way  the  court  paid  to  him 
by  the  old  Roman  nobility. 

The  Roman  nobility  have  no  political  influence,  and 
no  public  career  opened  to  them.  The  path  of  high 
public  distinction  can  be  entered  only  by  those  who 
embrace  the  ecclesiastical  profession.  This  is  fre- 
quently adopted  by  younger  sons,  and  with  fair  capa- 
city and  character,  they  often  reach  the  dignity  of 
Cardinal.  But  of  late  years  the  noble  Roman  families 
have  contributed  fewer  members  to  the  church  than 
was  the  custom  formerly.  At  present,  there  are  only 
two  Cardinals  in  the  sacred  college  who  have  sprung 
from  papal  families,  Cardinal  Barberini  and  Cardinal 
Altieri.  Cardinal  Odescalchi,  a  few  years  since,  re- 
signed the  purple  and  entered  the  order  of  the  Jesuits. 

Being  thus  without  any  high  career  to  quicken  his 
powers  and  elevate  his  ambition,  the  Roman  noble- 
man, unless  he  have  literary  or  scientific  tastes,  must 
take  refuge  in  a  life  of  frivolous  indolence  or  profligate 
self-indulgence.  The  author  of  '  Rom  im  Jahre  1833,' 


TRAGICAL    STORY    OF    THE    SAVELLI    FAMILY.      299 

a  man  of  sense  and  observation  who  lived  many  years 
in  Rome,  thus  gives  the  journal  of  a  Roman  nobleman's 
day.  He  rises  late  and  hears  mass  in  his  domestic 
chapel.  Then  he  does  business  with  his  steward,  or 
gives  an  order  to  a  tradesman ;  and  makes  or  receives 
two  or  three  visits.  He  dines  alone  or  with  a  few 
friends,  as  dinner-parties  are  not  a  common  form  of 
social  entertainment  among  Italians.  In  summer,  the 
dinner  is  followed  by  a  siesta.  Then  the  carriage  is 
ordered  out,  and  a  few  turns  taken  up  and  down  the 
Corso,  or  on  the  Pincio  ;  and  perhaps  an  ice  is  eaten 
in  front  of  a  coffee-house.  Then  come  evening  prayers 
and  afterwards  a  conversazione  ;  and  thus  the  hours 
are  brought  round  to  bedtime.  Who  can  wonder  that 
with  men  of  any  energy  of  temperament,  such  strong' 
excitements  as  gaming  and  intrigue  should  be  wel- 
comed as  grateful  episodes  in  a  life  of  such  dreary 
monotony  !  It  is  indeed  rather  to  the  credit  of  the 
Roman  dukes  and  princes,  that  there  are  so  many  re- 
specfable  men  among  them. 

In  point  of  fortune,  both  the  higher  and  lower  nobili- 
ty of  Rome  are,  as  a  general  rule,  in  a  state  of  decay 
and  decline.  A  few  are  very  rich,  and  many  are  posi- 
tively poor.  The  French  revolution,  directly  and  indi- 
rectly, fell  heavily  upon  them  as  a  class. 

TRAGICAL  STORY  OF  THE  SAVELLI  FAMILY. 

The  reader  of  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott  will  remem- 
ber that  Sir  Walter,  when  in  Rome,  met  at  a  dinner 
at  the  banker  Torlonia's  with  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  Corchiano,  and  that  the  duke  told  him  that '  He  was 


300   TRAGICAL  STORY  OF  THE  SAVELLI  FAMILY. 

possessed  of  a  vast  collection  of  papers,  giving  true 
accounts  of  all  the  murders,  poisonings,  intrigues,  and 
curious  adventures  of  all  the  great  Roman  families, 
during  many  centuries,  all  of  which  were  at  his  ser- 
vice to  copy  and  publish  in  his  own  way  as  historical 
romances,  only  disguising  the  names,  so  as  not  to  com- 
promise the  credit  of  the  existing  descendants  of  the 
families  in  question.'  We  may  easily  imagine  the 
rapture  with  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  would  have  poun- 
ced upon  such  a  treasure-trove,  in  the  prime  of  his 
powers  ;  and  with  such  materials,  a  novelist  of  half  his 
genius  might  easily  earn  a  brilliant  and  enduring  repu- 
tation. Such  themes  would  present  all  the  elements  of 
startling  adventure,  picturesque  description,  and  thrill- 
ing incident.  The  scene  would  change  from  the  peo- 
pled splendor  of  Roman  palaces  to  the  savage  solitudes 
of  secluded  castles  in  the  wooded  glens  and  on  the 
bare  crags  of  the  Apennines.  Nobles,  ecclesiastics 
and  soldiers  would  mingle  in  the  mazy  dance  of  events 
with  artists  and  scholars;  and,  mixed  with  these,  the 
hired  bravo  and  the  female  poisoner  would  stalk  or  flit 
across  the  stage  and  suddenly  disappear.  Great  his- 
torical names  could  be  introduced  with  no  violation  of 
probability,  and  around  the  whole  the  dazzling  lights 
and  hues  of  romance  could  be  poured.  That  the  an- 
nals of  the  great  Roman  families  are  so  prolific  in 
romantic  matter  is  to  be  ascribed,  partly  to  the  subtle 
and  passionate  character  of  the  Italians,  which  inclines 
them  alike  to  crimes  of  treachery  and  violence ;  and 
partly  to  the  fact  that  the  nobility  of  Italy  in  the  mid- 
dle ages  lived  in  defiance  alike  of  law  and  public 
opinion,  to  an  extent  to  which  English  history,  since 


TRAGICAL    STORY    OF    THE    SAVELLI    FAMILY.      301 

the  wars  of  the  Roses,  affords  no  parallel.  The  great 
families  had  almost  absolute  dominion,  not  stopping 
short  of  life  and  death,  within  their  own  fiefs  ;  and 
some  fragments  of  their  former  feudal  privileges  yet 
remain.  The  fearful  tragedy  of  the  Cenci,  so  well 
known  through  the  power  of  painting  and  poetry,  is 
one  of  these  domestic  histories ;  and  perhaps  if  all  the 
horrors  now  slumbering  in  manuscript  in  mouldering 
cabinets  and  forgotten  crypts  were  revealed  to  the  light 
of  day,  it  would  not  be  found  to  be  the  darkest.  That 
mysterious  personage,  Lucrezia  Borgia,  over  whose 
motives  and  character  so  much  dust  of  learned  con- 
troversy has  been  raised,  is  another  and  representative 
character  in  Italian  domestic  history.  Reumont,  in  his 
'  Neue  Rcemische  Briefe,'  relates  a  tragic  story  drawn 
from  the  annals  of  the  Savelli  family,  which  fearfully 
illustrates  fhe  fatal  consequences  which  spring  from 
the  collision  of  fervid  passions.  I  have  merely  abridged 
his  narrative. 

About  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Duke 
of  Savelli  had  an  only  son  who,  from  his  mental  and 
personal  graces,  was  the  object  of  great  admiration  to 
his  friends  and  relatives,  and  of  a  doting  affection  to 
his  parents.  A  marriage  was  negotiated  for  him  with 
the  daughter  of  a  noble  Neapolitan  house,  who  was  to 
bring  him  a  dowry  of  eight  hundred  thousand  scudi ; 
but  on  account  of  the  tender  age  of  the  bride  the  nup- 
tial ceremony  was  to  be  delayed  for  some  time.  Un- 
der these  circumstances,  the  young  man,  while  passing 
the  summer  at  the  family  castle  in  Aricia,  saw  and 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  beautiful  young  woman, 
of  a  decent  family,  who  was  betrothed  to  a  young 


302   TRAGICAL  STORY  OF  THE  SAVELLI  FAMILY. 

man  of  her  own  rank  in  life,  named  Christoforo,  a 
vassal  of  the  princely  house  of  Savelli.  The  young 
woman  was  possessed  of  firmness  and  principle,  as 
were  her  parents.  She  was  kept  concealed  in  the  house 
so  that  the  young  nobleman  could  neither  speak  to  nor 
communicate  with  her ;  his  presents  were  returned  ; 
and  the  marriage  with  Christoforo  hastened  as  fast  as 
possible.  After  the  marriage,  the  infatuated  lover  still 
continued  his  persecuting  attentions ;  wrote  letter  after 
letter ;  and  even  hired  a  house  next  to  that  in  which 
the  married  pair  lived,  in  order  that  he  might  see  and 
speak  with  the  wife  from  the  window  —  a  step  which 
compelled  them  to  change  their  abode.  Although  the 
young  wife  behaved  with  great  propriety,  and  revealed 
to  her  husband  all  the  annoyances  to  which  she  was 
exposed  —  giving  him  her  whole  heart  and  her  whole 
confidence  —  his  mind  was  tortured  with  jealousy,  sus- 
picion, and  fear;  the  more  so  as  the  passion  of  his 
liege  lord  was  now  matter  of  common  notoriety  all 
over  the  village.  He  grew  at  last  into  such  a  state  of 
desperation  that  he  resolved  to  bring  things  to  an  end, 
no  matter  at  what  cost.  As  his  wife  shewed  him  all 
the  letters  she  received  from  Savelli  —  and  as  these 
grew  more  and  more  passionate  and  importunate,  and 
began  to  assume  a  threatening  tone  —  he  at  last  com- 
pelled her  to  write  to  her  persecutor  at  his  dictation, 
telling  him  that  her  husband  would  soon  leave  home 
on  business,  and  that  she  would  then  see  him  at  her 
house.  The  young  prince  was  overjoyed  at  the  re- 
ceipt of  this  missive.  Soon  after  he  received  another, 
saying  that  her  husband  had  left  home,  and  desiring 
the  prince  to  visit  her  at  midnight,  and  to  come  clis- 


TRAGICAL  STORY  OF  THE  SAVELLI  FAMILY.   303 

guiscd  so  that  he  might  not  be  detected  if  he  should 
chance  to  be  seen  by  any  one  else.  Christoforo  per- 
suaded her  to  write  these  letters  by  telling  her  that  his 
purpose  was  only  to  play  the  young  prince  a  trick 
which  should  cure  him  of  his  passion  and  enable  them 
to  live  in  peace. 

When  the  appointed  hour  had  arrived,  the  young 
prince  appeared  in  disguise  at  the  house  of  Christoforo, 
which  stood  apart  from  any  other  in  the  village.  He 
was  cautiously  admitted  and  conducted  into  an  inner 
apartment  where  Christoforo  was  seated,  dressed  in 
female  attire.  As  soon  as  the  unhappy  youth  had 
entered  the  room,  Christoforo  rose  and  shot  him  with  a 
pistol  loaded  with  five  balls;  and,  after  he  had  fallen, 
stabbed  him  to  the  heart  with  a  dagger.  Then,  with 
the  assistance  of  a  peasant  whom  he  had  taken  into 
his  confidence  and  kept  concealed  in  his  house,  he 
carried  the  bleeding  body  and  deposited  it  at  the  gate 
of  the  Savelli  palace.  The  murderer  and  his  accom- 
plice then  withdrew  to  the  mountains  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  finally  escaping  into  the  Neapolitan  terri- 
tory, took  shipping  for  Turkey,  and  never  appeared 
again  in  any  Christian  land.  The  poor  wife,  wholly 
"unprepared  for  such  a  tragedy,  had  fled  in  dismay  to 
her  mother's  house  on  hearing  the  report  of  the  pistol. 

When  the  next  morning  revealed  the  bloody  work 
of  the  night,  the  whole  village,  as  well  may  be  sup- 
posed, was  thrown  into  the  greatest  agitation  and  alarm. 
Messengers  were  immediately  dispatched  to  Home,  to 
inform  the  wretched  father  of  his  irreparable  loss. 
The  Pope,  Paul  III.  sent  the  proper  officers  of  justice 
to  Aricia,  investigations  were  made,  and  a  large  num- 


304   TRAGICAL  STORY  OF  THE  SAVELLI  FAMILY. 

her  of  persons  arrested.  The  wife  was  carried  to  the 
prison  of  Borgo  Castello,  and  there  examined  upon  the 
rack ;  but  she  always  persisted  in  the  statement  she  at 
first  made  —  that  she  knew  and  suspected  nothing  of 
the  murderous  designs  of  her  husband,  but  supposed 
that  he  intended  to  play  some  trick  upon  the  young 
prince,  and  that  she  had  fled  upon  hearing  the  pistol 
shot,  and  knew  nothing  further. 

After  some  months'  examination,  all  the  persons 
who  had  been  arrested  were  discharged,  except  the 
wife.  She,  in  spite  of  her  constant  protestations  of 
innocence,  was  condemned  to  death,  and  the  Savelli 
family  were  resolved  that  the  sentence  should  be  exe- 
cuted. But  their  cruel  purpose  was  not  destined  to  be 
carried  into  effect.  Margaret,  of  Austria,  the  natural 
daughter  of  Charles  V.  and  wife  of  Octavio  Farnese, 
the  grandson  of  the  Pope  (who  had  been  married  be- 
fore entering  the  ecclesiastical  state)  was  at  that  time 
residing  in  Rome.  Hearing  of  the  beauty  of  the  un- 
fortunate prisoner,  she  went  to  visit  her  in  her  place  of 
confinement,  and  on  seeing  her,  felt  so  lively  an  inter- 
est in  her  behalf,  that  she  resolved  to  use  all  her 
influence  to  procure  a  pardon.  She  first  applied  to 
the  Pope,  who  told  her  that  he  would  readily  grant  her 
request,  if  she  could  obtain  the  consent  of  the  Duke 
of  Savelli,  with  whom  the  decision  of  the  woman's 
fate  rested.  The  broken-hearted  old  man  could  not 
resist  the  personal  solicitations  of  so  powerful  a  person 
as  the  daughter  of  Charles  V.  The  young  woman 
was  set  at  liberty  and  entered  into  the  service  of  her 
benefactress.  Great  efforts  were  made  to  find  the 
fugitive  Christoforo.  A  price  of  thirty  thousand  scudi 


TRAGICAL    STORY    OF    THE    SAVELLI    FAMILY.      305 

was  set  upon  his  head,  and  negotiations  were  even 
entered  into  with  some  noted  leaders  of  banditti,  to 
whom  large  promises  were  made  in  case  they  would 
deliver  him  up  to  justice ;  but  all  in  vain.  Many  years 
after,  there  came  a  rumor  to  Rome  that  he  had  been 
seen  in  Aleppo ;  but  nothing  was  ever  known  with  cer- 
tainty of  his  subsequent  fate.  The  Duke  of  Savelli 
was  soon  after  seized  with  a  violent  fever  which  termi- 
nated in  madness,  and  he  ended  his  days  in  a  lunatic 
asylum.  With  him  the  family  became  extinct. 


VOL.  ii.  20 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Last  days  in  Rome  —  Home  to  Perugia  —  Perugia  and  Assissi  —  Perugia  to 
Florence  —  Lucca  —  Genoa. 


LAST    DAYS    IN    ROME. 

ROME,  which  at  first  is  somewhat  oppressive  to  the 
spirits,  gains  upon  acquaintance,  and  after  a  residence 
of  a  few  months  begins  to  unfold  all  its  attractions. 
The  sparkle  and  gaiety  of  Naples  and  Paris  soon  lose 
their  charm  with  those  who  are  not  very  young  or  very 
light-hearted ;  but  the  repose  of  Rome,  like  the  beauty 
of  twilight,  falls  with  a  soothing  influence  which  time 
and  repetition  only  deepen.  My  last  days  in  Rome 
were  darkened  by  the  thought  that  the  time  of  my  de- 
parture was  near  at  hand  ;  and  the  striking  points  and 
localities,  which  had  now  became  so  familiar  to  me, 
seemed  touched  with  gentler  and  softer  lights,  when  I 
was  about  to  see  them  no  more.  This  was  not  all  to 
be  ascribed  to  the  effect  of  custom  and  usage  in  toning 
down  the  thoughts,  till  they  had  become  in  unison  with 
the  grave  strain  of  outward  life.  Something  was  due 
to  that  influence  of  the  vernal  season  which  is  so  dis- 
tinctly felt  in  a  city  so  surrounded  with  gardens,  vine- 
yards, and  broad  green  spaces.  Besides,  I  had  come 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA.  307 

to  have  the  comfortable  feeling  of  a  boy  who  had 
ciphered  through  the  arithmetic.  I  had  not  the  fear  of 
Murray  and  Vasi  before  my  eyes.  I  was  not  haunted 
by  visions  of  churches  that  had  not  been  seen,  and 
galleries  that  had  not  been  visited.  I  could  let  the 
hours  bear  me  where  they  would,  and  suffer  the  reins 
to  drop  from  my  hands. 

My  last  week  was  spent  mostly  in  long  walks  around 
the  city  and  its  immediate  neighborhood,  with  no  other 
object  than  that  of  fastening  to  the  memory  as  strongly 
as  possible  the  forms  which  were  so  soon  to  be  lost  to 
the  sight.  I  strolled  through  the  grounds  of  the  Villa 
Pamphili  and  Villa  Borghese,  which  were  now  bright 
with  the  green,  and  starred  with  the  blossoms  of  spring, 
and  heard  for  the  last  time  the  voices  of  the  aerial 
spirits' that  live  in  their  venerable  pines.  I  took  a  fare- 
well look  at  the  Forum,  the  Colosseum,  the  Palace  of 
the  Cesars,  the  Churches  of  Sta.  Maria  Maggiore  and 
St.  John  Lateran.  I  paid  a  parting  visit  to  the  Capitol, 
the  Vatican,  and  St.  Peter's,  and  saw  my  last  sunset 
from  the  Pincian  Hill.  I  went  into  the  gardens  of  the 
Villa  Medici  4and  looked  over  the  wide  sweep  of  pros- 
pect towards  the  east.  I  sometimes  shut  my  eyes  — 
as  a  boy  who  is  learning  his  lesson  looks  off  the  book 
to  make  experiment  of  his  progress — to  try  how  dis- 
tinctly I  could  retain  and  carry  away  the  scenes  that 
were  before  me. 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA. 

On  Saturday,  April  8th,  I  left  Rome  in  the  coupe 
of  a  most  primitive  diligence,  in  which  I  had  taken 


308  ROME    TO   PERTTGIA. 

passage  to  Perugia,  trusting  to  good  luck  to  find  a  con- 
veyance from  there  to  Florence.  The  weather  was 
dull  and  gloomy,  and  I  was  not  sorry  that  Rome  did 
not  wear  its  best  look  as  I  was  leaving  it.  How  true 
is  the  remark  of  a  French  writer,  that  nothing  so  re- 
sembles a  funeral  as  a  leave-taking !  For  two  or  three 
posts  the  country  was  very  uninteresting  —  flat,  tame, 
and  desolate  —  and,  losing  sunshine,  it  lost  every  thing. 
Beyond  Monterosi,  a  gradual  improvement  took  place, 
and  fine  views  began  to  open  on  either  hand.  We 
passed  through  Nepi,  a  village  very  picturesquely 
situated,  on  the  outside  of  which  is  a  magnificent 
aqueduct!  We  reached  Civita  Castellana,  our  resting- 
place  for  the  night,  at  about  sunset.  I  strolled  about 
the  town  for  some  time  with  two  of  my  companions 
in  the  diligence,  both  young  men,  one  in  indifferent 
health,  with  a  fine  and  cultivated  tenor  voice,  to  whom 
singing  seemed  a  rather  more  natural  language  than 
speaking.  The  weather  had  brightened  up  since  morn- 
ing, and  the  mild  air  of  a  spring  evening  brought  the 
whole  population  into  the  streets.  The  men  were 
lounging  about  in  the  square,  and  perhaps  enjoying 
the  novel  pleasure  of  talking  politics,  and  speculating 
on  what  the  Pope  meant  to  do,  and  whether  he  would 
make  bread  cheaper  and  drive  away  the  malaria.  The 
women  were  clustered  about  a  large  fountain,  dab- 
bling and  splashing  in  its  streams  like  a  hundred  wash- 
ing days  ;  looking  very  busy,  oriental,  and  picturesque. 
We  went  into  the  Cathedral,  in  the  dusk  of  the  even- 
ing, the  interior  of  which  was  faintly  shewn  by  that 
dim,  religious  light  which  makes  every  thing  impres- 
sive. The  inn  was  crowded  and  uncomfortable,  and 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA.  309 

the  delays  were  such  as  would  only  have  been  tolera- 
ble in  antediluvian  periods.  I  whiled  away  the  even- 
ing by  trying  the  patience  of  my  companions  by  very 
unchoice  Italian,  and  listening  to  the  snatches  of  songs 
into  which  one  of  them  was  constantly  breaking. 

The  next  morning  the  weather  was  good,  and  we 
started  early.  Between  Civita  Castellana  and  Bof- 
ghetto,  the  road  passed  through  a  beautiful  country. 
At  the  latter  place  is  a  fine  old  fortress,  dismantled  and 
going  to  decay.  Soon  after,  we  crossed  the  Tiber  and 
drove  over  a  plain  shadowed  with  noble  oaks  to  Otri- 
coli,  where  we  stopped  to  leave  our  musical  friend. 
I  shook  him  heartily  by  the  hand  in  parting,  for  I  had 
been  drawn  to  him  by  his  sweet  voice  and  gentle  man- 
ners, and  I  could  not  get  over  the  presentiment  that  he 
had  gone  home  to  die.  Narni,  our  next  resting-place, 
is  a  beautifully  situated  city,  high  on  a  hill  and  com- 
manding an  extensive  prospect.  Here  are  the  remains 
of  the  bridge  of  Augustus  —  a  thoroughly  satisfactory 
ruin  in  every  respect  —  for  it  has  an  imperial  origin, 
its  forms  are  striking  and  grand,  and  the  scenery  of 
which  it  forms  a  part  is  exactly  what  a  poet  or  a  painter 
would  wish  for  the  setting  of  a  ruin.  During  the  greater 
part  of  the  day,  indeed,  we  had  travelled  over  a  country 
of  more  varied  and  impressive  beauty  than  I  had  ex- 
pected. The  slow  pace  at  which  we  moved  enabled 
me  to  be  on  my  feet  for  many  miles,  so  that  I  had  the 
full  benefit  of  the  views.  The  road  went  over  breezy 
uplands,  from  which  the  distant  Apennines  and  many  a 
glittering  hamlet  could  be  seen  —  plunged  down  into 
deep  dells  where  the  overhanging  shadows  kept  the 
morning  dew  far  into  the  day  —  and  wandered  over 


310  ROME    TO    PERUGIA. 

extensive  plains  and  through  woods  of  oak  and  chest- 
nut, whose  massive  aisles  seemed  to  lead  into  primeval 
and  untrodden  solitudes.  Mountain  streams,  soon  to  be 
dried  up  by  the  summer's  heat,  poured  their  turbid 
floods  through  the  water-courses.  The  great  presiding 
genius  of  the  landscape  had  been  the  giant  form  of 
Mount  Soracte,  which  had  been  constantly  near  us, 
changing  with  the  changing  lights,  but  always  the  cen- 
tral point  of  interest  and  attraction.  The  elements 
which  the  Hand  of  man  had  added  to  the  scenery  had 
always  embellished  and  never  defaced  it.  Towns, 
over-ripe  with  age,  crowning  the  tops  of  steep  hills,  as 
if  they  had  been  dropped  upon  them  from  the  clouds  ; 
feudal  towers,  rusting  away  like  pieces  of  disused 
armor ;  aqueducts  and  bridges  with  the  stamp  of  Roman 
greatness  upon  them  ;  and  walls  black  with  Etrurian 
shadows  —  offered  themselves  to  the  eye  when  it 
turned  away  from  the  eternal  forms  of  Nature  ;  and 
over  the  whole  landscape  there  hung  a  charm  not  dis- 
cerned by  the  eye — a  spirit  of  power  and  beauty  — 
which  gave  a  voice  to  every  stream  that  broke  upon 
the  solitude,  and  dignity  to  every  mountain  shadow. 
This  interest  was  not  derived  from  the  struggles  and 
dramatic  changes  of  the  middle  ages  alone  —  not  alone 
from  the  grandeur  and  decay  of  Rome  —  but  in  part 
from  the  fortunes  of  those  mysterious  Etrurians,  whose 
civilization  had  passed  the  culminating  point  before  the 
seeds  of  Rome  had  been  planted.  And  how  vivid  was 
the  contrast  between  this  mighty  past,  running  up  to  an 
unrecorded  morning  twilight,  and  the  freshness  of  the 
actual  landscape,  just  breaking  into  the  verdure  and 
bloom  of  spring,  and  exulting  in  the  sense  of  new-born 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA.  311 

life  !  This  contrast  was  made  the  more  striking  by  the 
solitude  which  brooded  over  a  large  portion  of  the 
route.  Between  the  post  stations  there  would  fre- 
quently be  many  miles  with  hardly  a  sign  of  human 
habitation,  and  but  for  a  town  or  village  set  upon  a  dis- 
tant hill,  we  might  have  supposed  ourselves  in  some 
new  region  just  opened  to  the  stream  of  population  and 
enterprise.  There  was  no  succession  of  farm-houses 
and  modest  hamlets,  each  within  an  easy  call  of  some 
other,  but  after  passing  out  of  the  towns  which,  from 
the  compactness  of  their  streets  and  the  height  and 
close  proximity  of  the  houses,  seemed  like  pieces  cut 
out  of  a  large  city,  every  thing  was  solitary  and  deso- 
late, as  if  the  land  had  been  wasted  by  pestilence  or 
ravaged  by  war. 

I  have  spoken  often,  perhaps  too  often,  of  the 
beauty  and  variety  of  Italian  scenery,  and  my  only 
apology  is  to  be  found  in  the  ever  new  pleasure  which 
it  awakened.  The  most  striking  effects  of  scenery  are 
produced  when  elements  unlike  in  the  impression  they 
make  are  brought  into  immediate  comparison  and  rela- 
tion. A  level  plain  stretching  away  to  the  horizon  on 
every  side  is  well  enough  to  see  for  a  while,  but  its 
continuance  soon  wearies  the  eye.  But  let  a  range  of 
mountains  loom  up  in  the  distance,  and  a  new  charac- 
ter is  given  to  the  intermediate  plain.  So  when  a 
mountain  rises  up  abruptly  from  a  level  region,  like 
Soracte,  the  mountain  is  the  finer  for  the  plain,  and  the 
plain  for  the  mountain.  It  is  the  same  with  lakes. 
The  most  striking  are  those  which  are  the  deepest  set, 
like  Como,  or  still  more,  Lucerne.  The  overhanging 
cliff  and  the  liquid  floor  take  and  give  beauty  and  gran- 


312  ROME    TO    PERUGIA. 

deur.  Mountains  themselves  which  are  packed  closely 
together,  with  only  deep  fissure-like  valleys  between 
them,  are  shorn  of  half  their  power  from  the  want  of  a 
proper  element  of  comparison.  One  of  the  felicities  of 
the  scenery  of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  in  Eng- 
land, and  which  gives  such  effect  to  their  low  and  bare 
mountains,  is  that  the  spaces  between  them  are  broad 
level  plains  of  lake  or  meadow,  from  which  the  hills 
rise  up  like  trees  from  a  smooth  lawn.  The  character 
of  Italian  scenery  is  mainly  determined  by  the  central 
chain  of  the  Apennines  and  its  lateral  spurs,  and  the 
comparatively  narrow  strip  of  level  region  between  the 
mountains  and  the  sea.  Nor  is  this  all ;  for  the  inter- 
mediate space  has  been  the  scene  of  powerful  volcanic 
action,  which  always  results  in  picturesque  contrasts. 
Thus,  in  Italy,  south  of  the  great  alluvial  plain  of  Lom- 
bardy  and  away  from  the  immediate  seacoast,  the  eye 
is  never  discontented  with  monotony.  Standing  upon 
a  height,  there  is  always  a  wide  horizon  to  look  down 
upon  ;  and  travelling  over  a  plain,  there  are  always 
heights  to  look  up  to.  The  streams  rush  rapidly 
through  narrow  and  precipitous  banks.  The  lakes  oc- 
cupy the  craters  of  extinct  volcanoes.  Deep  wooded 
glens  open  on  all  sides,  in  which  rocks  and  trees  group 
themselves  into  the  finest  combinations.  The  travel- 
ler's path  is  full  of  variety,  and  the  beauty  that  pitches 
her  tents  before  him  as  he  moves,  never  appears  twice 
in  the  same  garb. 

From  Narni  I  went  on  to  Terni,  through  a  beautiful 
valley  embosomed  in  high  hills.  After  dinner,  I  put 
myself  in  the  hands  of  a  donkey  driver  and  rode  down 
to  the  falls,  through  a  richly  wooded  and  romantic 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA.  313 

region,  glowing  in  the  early  bloom  of  spring.  There 
were  two  or  three  inviting  looking  houses  on  the  way. 

These  celebrated  falls  did  not  correspond  to  the  ex- 
pectations I  had  formed  of  them.  They  seemed  to  me 
to  have  been  be-rhymed  and  be-prosed  beyond  their 
deserts.  Poets  and  travellers  who  have  described  them 
dwell  upon  their  terrors  and  sublimities  —  as  if  a  mighty 
power  were  put  forth,  before  which  the  mind  of  man 
must  needs  stand  in  fear  and  trembling.  The  answer 
to  such  claims  is  found  in  the  facts  that  the  Velino  is 
only  about  fifty  feet  wide,  and  that  the  falls  themselves 
are  artificial.  Brockedon,  who  has  given  an  excellent 
view  of  the  scene,  speaks  of  the  '  appalling  effect  of  the 
cataract.'  I  cannot  conceive  of  the  most  sensitive 
nerves  being  '  appalled '  here,  any  more  than  before  a 
city  water-spout  in  a  hard  rain.  The  falls  did  not  seem 
to  me  sublime,  hardly  grand  ;  but  worthy  of  all  praise 
for  their  beauty  and  grace.  The  form  of  the  cliff  over 
which  the  water  flows  is  very  fine  ;  as  is  the  character 
of  the  whole  scenery  through  which  the  stream  flows. 
The  rocks  are  scooped  and  hollowed  in  the  most  becom- 
ing shapes  ;  trees  and  shrubs  grow  just  where  they  are 
wanted  ;  there  is  water  enough  to  give  animation  to  the 
whole  scene  ;  and  great  variety  results  from  the  dif- 
ferent inclinations  over  which  the  stream  breaks  and 
glides.  The  cataract  would  be  perfect  in  its  way  were 
the  waters  clear,  which  was  far  from  being  the  case 
when  I  saw  them  :  they  were  of  a  dirty  yellow,  and 
the  silver  of  their  foam  seemed  tarnished  and  rusty. 

The  evening  was  mild,  and  I  passed  an  hour  or  two 
in  strolling  about  the  streets  of  Terni.  The  soft  air 
and  the  light  of  a  young  moon  had  brought  nearly  all 


314  ROME    TO    PERUGIA. 

the  population  out  of  doors.  They  did  not  look  so  in- 
telligent as  the  reading  and  lecture-going  inhabitants  of 
a  town  of  similar  size  in  New  England,  but  there  were 
more  smiles  among  them  and  fewer  anxious  brows. 
They  strolled  about  in  a  leisurely  way,  as  if  they  had 
a  great  deal  more  of  the  capital  of  time  than  they  knew 
how  to  invest.  Terni,  however,  has  a  more  thriving 
and  progressive  look  than  most  Italian  towns.  There 
are  some  iron  works  here,  employing  about  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  persons,  mostly  French. 

The  next  morning,  by  virtue  of  an  arrangement  pre- 
viously concluded,  I  was  driven  over  from  Terni  to 
San  Gemini,  a  small  village  about  ten  miles  off,  in 
order  to  take  a  diligence  which  passed  through  there 
on  the  way  to  Perugia  ;  and,  to  make  sure  of  the  time, 
I  was  obliged  to  start  at  five.  The  wagon  provided  for 
me  was  primitive  enough  to  have  come  out  of  the 
stables  of  Shem,  but,  had  it  been  a  wheelbarrow,  I 
should  not  have  murmured,  so  beautiful  was  the  region 
through  which  it  carried  me.  There  is  a  deep  charm 
in  that  early  morning  twilight,  which  amply  repays  for 
the  pang  of  parting  with  one's  pillow  ;  and  perhaps  a 
small  seasoning  of  self-complacency  at  having  accom- 
plished so  lark-like  a  feat  adds  a  flavor  to  our  enjoy- 
ment. The  road  ran  through  fresh  and  dewy  woods 
and  over  upland  ridges,  from  which  the  eye  ranged  over 
many  a  league  of  plain.  It  was  a  great  delight  to 
mark  the  various  portions  of  the  landscape  struggling 
out  of  the  darkness  and  glowing  into  day  —  to  see  the 
long  wave  of  morning  gold  climb  up  the  gray  beach  of 
the  eastern  sky,  and  overflow  the  valleys,  and  dash  its 
luminous  spray  against  the  walls  and  spires  of  Narni, 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA.  315 

till  they  shone  in  the  distance  like  battlements  of  crys- 
tal. There  were  very  few  houses  on  the  road,  but  we 
met  many  laborers,  some  singly  and  some  in  groups, 
going  out  to  their  daily  toil. 

San  Gemini  is  a  very  small  village,  as  is  usual  in 
Italy,  resembling  the  street  of  a  city  ;  being  composed 
of  two  rows  of  high  stone  houses,  and  when  you  come 
to  the  end  of  them  the  open  country  begins.  I  waited 
an  hour  for  the  lazy  diligence,  but  I  passed  it  very 
pleasantly  in  walking  about  the  town  and  its  outskirts, 
watching  the  ways  of  the  people,  and  endeavoring  to 
establish  diplomatic  relations  with  some  very  young 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  whose  mothers  had  brought  them 
out  into  the  morning  light.  There  was  a  small  cafe, 
crowded  with  men  in  coarse  working  dresses,  each  of 
whom  took  a  small  cup  of  black  coffee  before  going  out 
to  his  labor.  Two  old  men  sat  down  in  a  corner  to 
play  cards :  it  is  my  firm  faith  that  a  dirtier  pack 
could  not  at  that  moment  have  been  found  upon  earth. 
Near  them  was  a  segretario,  or  letter- writer,  just  finish- 
ing a  letter  for  a  very  rough-looking  contadino,  who 
dug  his  words  out  very  slowly,  and  seemed  troubled  in 
spirit.  The  people  looked  poor  but  contented.  Nearly 
every  person  saluted  me  as  I  passed,  and  in  the  little 
cafe  there  was  a  quiet  tone  of  good  manners  and  an 
absence  of  rude  staring,  such  as  was  hardly  to  be  ex- 
pected in  a  place  where  strange  faces  were  probably 
not  very  common. 

San  .Gemini,  like  all  the  towns  of  this  region,  is  set 
upon  a  hill,  and  just  outside  of  the  gate  of  entrance  to 
its  single  street  is  a  spacious  terrace-like  plateau  which 
commands  a  very  wide  prospect.  As  I  was  looking  at 


316  ROME    TO    PERUGIA. 

this  and  thinking  how  expressive  it  was,  in  its  early 
light  and  early  bloom,  of  youth  and  hope  and  life,  my 
eyes  fell  upon  an  object  which  lay  upon  the  ground 
a  few  rods  distance  ;  and  on  walking  up  to  it  to  see 
what  it  might  be,  I  was  somewhat  startled  to  find  it  a 
coarsely  formed  wooden  bier,  entirely  uncovered  at 
the  top,  in  which  was  the  dead  body  of  a  middle-aged 
woman  of  the  peasant  class.  Not  a  human  being  but 
myself  was  in  sight.  The  body  was  dressed  precisely 
as  the  woman  would  have  been  if  living,  in  a  gown  of 
blue  stuff,  with  stockings  and  stout  shoes.  The  hands 
were  hard  and  brown,  shewing  a  life  of  severe  toil  in 
the  open  air  ;  and  but  for  the  dignity  of  death,  the  fea- 
tures would  have  been  coarse  antl  commonplace.  As 
I  looked  up  agrrtn,  a  shadow,  like  that  of  a  passing 
cloud,  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  landscape. 

The  diligence  plodded  on  slowly  to  Todi,  over  a 
hilly  road,  but  through  a  country  so  beautiful  that  no 
one  could  have  wished  to  be  whirled  rapidly  through  it. 
The  air  was  elastic  and  bracing,  and  the  sky  covered 
with  massive  clouds  of  snowy  white,  which  the  light 
winds  hardly  stirred.  Todi,  high  in  the  air,  shone  like 
an  aerial  city,  and  was  visible  for  some  hours  before  we 
reached  it.  It  is  a  little  provincial  town  of  about  three 
thousand  inhabitants  ;  and  it  is  curious  to  compare  such 
a  place  with  a  town  of  similar  size  in  New  England, 
both  in  what  it  has  and  what  it  has  not.  In  Todi  it 
would  probably  be  a  difficult  thing  to  pick  up  a  news- 
paper or  a  periodical ;  and  a  library  of  twenty  volumes 
in  the  possession  of  a  layman  would  be  an  extraordi- 
nary phenomenon  in  such  a  place.  There  might  be 
half  a  dozen  intelligent  and  conversible  men  found 


ROME    TO    PERUGIA.  317 

there,  but  hardly  an  educated  and  intellectual  woman, 
able  to  take  part  in  a  conversation  upon  politics  or  lite- 
rature. But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  a  church  here 
by  Bramante,  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  cross,  with  four 
small  cupolas  supporting  a  large  one,  which  is  so  beau- 
tiful, that  if  it  were  dropped  down  any  where  in  New 
England,  men  would  take  a  day's  journey  merely  to 
look  at  it.  There  is  also  another  church,  with  a  Gothic 
doorway  covered  with  a  rich  and  elaborate  carving, 
such  as  could  not  be  paralleled  in  the  whole  United 
States.  Such  is  Italy  ;  rich  in  art,  but  poor  in  thought 
and  action  —  rich  in  the  bequests  of  the  past,  but  poor 
in  the  harvests  of  the  present. 

Between  Todi  and  Perugia  the  road  passes  through 
a  level  region,  under  fine  cultivation.  Perugia  was 
distinctly  visible  for  so  long  a  time  before  we  reached 
it,  and  the  distance  between  us  and  it  seemed  so  little 
diminished  by  the  progress  we  made,  that  I  began  to 
think  it  was  a  city  in  a  dream  which  kept  receding  as 
we  drew  near.  But  at  last  we  did  arrive  at  the  base  of 
the  steep  hill  which  it  crowns,  and  after  that  it  was 
much  like  going  up  stairs  to  bed.  For  the  last  mile  or 
two,  a  yoke  of  sturdy  oxen  was  harnessed  to  the  car- 
riage, and  about  dusk  we  passed  into  the  town.  I 
found  lodgings  in  La  Corona,  a  humble  Italian  inn  not 
set  down  in  Murray,  the  rather  shabby  diligence  having 
closed  against  me  the  doors  of  the  first-class  hotels. 
For  the  honor  of  the  country  let  me  say,  that  I  found 
decent  accommodations  and  most  obliging  attendance 
—  was  not  overcharged  —  or  bitten  by  fleas. 


318  PERUGIA   AND    ASSISSI. 


PERUGIA    AND    ASSISSI. 

The  next  two  days,  passed  in  Perugia  and  its  neigh- 
borhood, were  among  the  most  delightful  of  my  whole 
Italian  tour.  Few  persons  have  any  notion  of  how  in- 
teresting a  city  this  is,  and  how  rich  in  works  of  art ; 
to  say  nothing  of  its  glorious  situation,  and  clean,  quiet, 
aristocratic-looking  streets,  so  utterly  without  business 
or  bustle.  I  had  the  advantage  of  delicious  weather, 
with  a  transparent  atmosphere  which  made  the  distant 
near,  and  pushed  the  horizon  so  far  off  as  to  include  a 
boundless  range  of  mountain,  hill,  and  valley. 

Stratford-on-Avon  is  hardly  more  identified  with 
Shakespeare,  than  is  Perugia  with  the  admirable  artist 
to  whom  it  has  given  the  name  by  which  he  is  com- 
monly known.  I  call  him  admirable,  for  so  he  is  in  his 
best  works,  but  there  is  a  great  space  between  his  best 
and  his  worst  works.  Sometimes  he  is  almost  equal  to 
Raphael,  and  sometimes  he  is  far  below  himself.  So 
far  as  we  can  judge  from  what  we  know  of  his  life  — 
though  I  cannot  help  distrusting  some  of  Vasari's  state- 
ments —  he  seems  to  have  been  one  of  those  men  whose 
genius  derives  no  elements  of  growth  from  the  charac- 
ter. His  early  years  were  darkened  with  poverty  and 
struggle  :  his  temperament  was  not  hopeful,  nor  were 
his  manners  engaging.  The  remembrance  of  his  suf- 
ferings and  privations  gave  him  an  undue  estimate  of 
the  value  of  money,  and  when  success  came,  he  es- 
teemed it  less  for  the  sphere  of  development  which  it 
opened  than  for  the  means  of  accumulating  property 
which  it  furnished.  His  studio  was  degraded  to  a  shop, 
and  he  himself  to  a  mechanic  ;  and  his  insulted  genius 


PERTTG1A   AND   ASSISSI.  319 

took  revenge  by  rarer  and  briefer  visits.  With  the 
help  of  his  pupils  he  painted  an  immense  number  of 
pictures,  which  were  dispersed  through  the  galleries  of 
Europe,  which  have  just  merit  enough  to  make  one 
vexed  that  they  have  not  more.  Every  one  remembers 
the  remark  of  the  would-be  connoisseur  in  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  that  the  secret  of  his  art  consisted  in  two 
rules :  '  The  one,  always  to  observe  that  the  picture 
might  have  been  better  if  the  painter  had  taken  more 
pains ;  and  the  other,  to  praise  the  works  of  Pietro 
Perugino.'  In  a  multitude  of  cases,  these  two  rules 
might  be  put  in  practice  before  the  same  picture.  No 
artist  has  painted  more  pictures  of  which  it  may  be 
said  with  truth,  that  they  would  have  been  better  if  the 
painter  had  taken  more  pains.  ,And,  at  best,  he  wants 
variety  and  dramatic  power.  When  he  has  many 
figures  to  deal  with,  he  does  not  group  them  with  skill 
and  judgment.  He  is  also  deficient  in  manly  grasp 
and  vigorous  energy,  and  there  is  feminine  weakness 
as  well  as  feminine  delicacy  in  his  pencil.  His  atti- 
tudes are  stiff,  and  he  is  wanting  in  that  flowing  outline, 
which  is  so  great  a  charm  in  the  designs  of  his  illus- 
trious pupil.  He  is  a  decided  mannerist,  and  his  heads 
and  faces  seem  to  have  been  variations  of  the  same 
original  model.  But  to  these  wants  there  are  great 
merits  to  be  set  down  by  way  of  compensation.  His 
coloring  is  soft,  rich,  and  mellow ;  remarkable  for  its 
harmonious  gradations  and  purity  of  tone.  The  aerial 
light  of  his  backgrounds  has  a  certain  spiritual  look 
which  often  reminded  me  of  Allston.  His  heads  are 
animated  with  an  expression  of  tenderness,  delicacy, 
and  elevation  which,  however  often  repeated,  never 


320  PERUGIA   AND    ASSISSI. 

fails  to  charm.  The  sentiment  of  worship  especially  — 
the  devotional  instinct  which  naturally  bends  the  head 
forward,  as  a  tree  is  swayed  by  the  wind  —  is  always 
conspicuous  in  his  pictures.  It  is  difficult  to  believe 
the  stories  that  are  told  of  his  irreligion,  when  we  look 
upon  the  rapt  and  glowing  heads  of  his  saints  and 
madonnas. 

I  began  my  day  at  Perugia  by  a  visit  to  the  cathe- 
dral, but  could  only  observe  the  general  effect  of  the 
interior,  for  it  was  under  repair  and  the  pictures  were 
not  visible.  The  frescoes  of  the  Sala  del  Cambio,  or 
Hall  of  Exchange,  are  perhaps  the  culminating  point 
of  the  painter's  genius.  Nowhere  else  does  he  put 
forth  so  much  power,  dignity,  and  variety.  On  one 
side,  are  several  Sybils  and  Prophets,  with  the  Almighty 
in  glory  above  them  ;  and  on  the  other,  various  per- 
sonages of  Greek  and  Roman  history,  arranged  in 
groups  ;  and,  above  them,  allegorical  figures  of  the 
virtues  which  distinguished  them.  On  the  wall,  oppo- 
site the  entrance,  are  the  Transfiguration  and  the  Na- 
tivity —  both  very  fine,  the  latter  especially.  The  roof 
is  covered  with  beautiful  arabesques,  and  figures  repre- 
senting the  seven  planets,  with  Apollo  in  the  centre. 
In  this  room  there  is  a  portrait  of  Perugino  himself, 
which  is  a  harder  and  coarser  face  than  one  would 
have  supposed  from  his  works.  In  these  frescoes,  Peru- 
gino was  assisted  by  Raphael,  whose  likeness  is  said  to 
be  preserved  in  the  figure  of  the  prophet  Daniel. 

The  church  of  S.  Agostino  has  two  works  by  Peru- 
gino, one  representing  the  Nativity,  and  the  other,  the 
Baptism  of  the  Saviour.  The  first  is  a  very  beautiful 
work,  full  of  tenderness  and  feeling,  remarkable  for  the 


PERUGIA   AND   ASSISS1.  321 

mixture  of  maternal  love  and  devotional  reverence  in 
the  face  and  attitude  of  the  Virgin.  In  the  sacristy 
there  are  also  eight  very  pleasing  pictures  by  him,  of 
small  size  and  in  frames. 

The  Benedictine  monastery  of  St.  Peter  has  a  fine 
church  of  the  basilica  style.  Here  are  numerous  pic- 
tures, some  of  the  Venetian  school,  but  few  favorably 
placed  for  being  seen.  In  the  sacristy  are  five  lovely 
little  pictures  of  saints  by  Perugino,  which  are  perfect 
gems  of  feeling  and  expression.  The  Infant  Saviour 
embracing  St.  John  is  said  to  be  an  early  work  of 
Raphael's.  The  stalls  of  the  choir  are  of  walnut, 
carved  in  bas-relief  from  designs  of  Raphael,  which  are 
full  of  grace  and  boundless  in  invention.  This  monas- 
tery is  grandly  situated,  and  from  a  public  walk  near 
by  an  incomparable  view  may  be  enjoyed. 

In  the  Confraternita  of  S.  Pietro  Martire  is  one  of 
Perugino's  best  works,  a  Madonna  and  Child,  between 
two  angels  and  worshipped  by  several  saints. 

In  the  Church  of  S.  Severo  is  Raphael's  first  fresco. 
It  is  in  two  compartments,  or  divisions,  an  upper  and 
lower.  In  the  former,  is  God  the  Father  with  two  child 
angels,  each  holding  a  sort  of  floating  scroll.  This  por- 
tion is  much  injured.  Below,  the  Saviour  is  in  the 
centre,  with  the  dove  above  his  head  and  an  angel  on 
either  side  ;  and  a  little  lower,  are  six  saints  seated, 
three  on  either  hand.  The  composition  is  excellent, 
marked  by  that  balanced  harmony  and  calm  repose  so 
conspicuous  in  the  frescoes  of  the  Vatican.  Both 
beauty  and  dignity  may  be  discerned  in  the  figures ; 
and  the  attitudes  and  drapery  shew  that  he  was  already 
beginning  to  break  the  chains  of  the  Umbrian  school. 

VOL.  II.  21 


322  PERUGIA    AND    ASSISSI. 

In  the  Palazzo  Connestabile  is  one  of  the  earliest  of 
Raphael's  Holy  Families,  called  the  Staffa  Madonna,  a 
small  round  picture,  of  much  sweetness  of  expression, 
and  with  an  air  of  nature  and  reality  about  it  which  dis- 
tinguishes it  from  the  stiff  conventionalism  in  which  the 
subject  was  treated  by  the  earlier  masters.  The  Vir- 
gin is  reading  in  a  book,  and  the  Child  is  looking  into 
it,  in  a  playful,  natural  way,  just  as  any  mortal  child 
might  do. 

In  the  Church  of  S.  Francesco  is  a  fine  picture  of 
St.  John  the  Baptist,  with  four  other  saints,  by  Peru- 
gino  ;  and  also  a  Martyrdom  of  St.  Sebastian,  which  is 
one  of  his  feeblest  and  poorest  works. 

Among  the  other  interesting  objects  in  Perugia,  are 
the  house  of  Perugino  :  a  fountain  nearly  six  hundred 
years  old,  in  marble  and  bronze,  the  work  of  Giovanni 
da  Pisa,  and  redundant  in  carving  :  a  fine  bronze  statue 
of  Julius  III. :  a  massive  arch,  partly  Roman  and  partly 
Etruscan,  now  used  as  a  gateway,  very  grand,  dark, 
and  imposing  ;  and  another  Etruscan  gateway,  in  the 
wall  of  the  citadel,  the  frieze  of  which  is  ornamented 
with  heads  of  horses.  The  Palazzo  Communale  is  a 
fine  old  building  with  a  noble  doorway  and  beautiful 
windows. 

The  Pinacoteca,  or  Academy  of  the  Fine  Arts,  con- 
tains some  fine  works  by  Pinturicchio,  a  beautiful  Ma- 
donna by  Bartolo,  and  various  other  pictures  interesting 
in  the  history  of  art.  There  is  also  a  respectable  col- 
lection of  casts,  various  Etruscan  curiosities  in  bronze, 
many  monuments  and  inscriptions  taken  from  tombs  in 
the  neighborhood. 

At  the  close  of  the  day,  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  Institu- 


PERTJGIA   AND   ASSISSI. 

tion  for  the  Insane,  which  has  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  best  in  Italy.  The  situation  is  extremely 
beautiful.  I  went  without  any  introduction,  but  found 
no  difficulty  in  being  admitted,  and  I  was  conducted  all 
over  the  building  with  much  courtesy.  There  are 
usually  about  seventy  patients  here ;  some  of  whom  are 
supported  by  themselves,  and  some  at  the  public  ex- 
pense. The  bathing  apparatus  was  very  good,  but  the 
ventilation  rather  defective.  The  floors  are  of  brick, 
and  in  winter,  stoves  heated  with  wood  are  used  for 
warming.  Every  thing  was  neat  and  in  good  order. 
One  of  the  patients  was  a  decent-looking  English  wo- 
man, of  middle  age,  whom  some  strange  blast  of  fate 
had  blown  to  this  out-of-the-way  place.  She  appeared 
rational  enough,  and  well  pleased  to  have  an  opportu- 
nity of  speaking  her  native  tongue.  The  resident 
physician  seemed  to  be  a  very  intelligent  young  man, 
and  I  regretted  that  my  imperfect  Italian  kept  our  con- 
versation very  near  the  shore.  Every  window  in  the 
building  commands  an  enchanting  prospect,  and  this 
cannot  fail  to  have  a  favorable  influence  upon  the  men- 
tal health  of  the  inmates.  As  I  walked  home  from  the 
Asylum  to  my  inn,  and  looked  around  upon  the  streets 
which  were  as  quiet  as  those  of  an  American  city  of 
the  same  size  at  midnight,  with  no  noise,  bustle,  or 
animation  of  any  kind,  and  thought  how  little  of  relig- 
ious or  political  excitement  ever  disturbed  these  tranquil 
waters,  and  how  impossible  it  was  to  speculate  in  any 
thing  but  lottery  tickets  —  I  could  not  but  wonder  what 
motive  or  excuse  men  could  have  for  going  mad  in  so 
sleepy  an  atmosphere,  in  which  life  was  much  like  an 
afternoon  nap.  That  the  wheels  of  the  brain  might 


PERUGIA    AND    ASSISSI. 

become  clogged  with  inaction,  so  as  to  stop  short,  and 
the  man  and  the  mind  alike  die  of  that  Quaker  disease, 
which  Jeffrey  describes  in  one  of  his  letters,  is  easy  to 
comprehend  ;  but  that  they  should  ever  go  so  fast  as  to 
get  out  of  gear  is  a  mystery. 

I  took  dinner  in  one  corner  of  a  barn-like  apartment 
in  solitary  state,  and  thought  with  pity  of  the  poor  Pope 
who  is  so  grand  a  personage  that  he  is  obliged  to  do  so 
every  day.  Three  hundred  and  sixty-five  solitary  din- 
ners every  year !  A  man  ought  to  be  paid  very  high 
wages  far  that.  Soon  after  I  had  sat  down,  two  young 
gentlemen  came  into  the  room  and  somewhat  to  my 
surprise  commenced  a  conversation  in  English.  There 
was  something  about  them  which  shewed  that  they  did 
not  belong  to  the  aristocratic  class  —  as  indeed  might 
be  inferred  from  the  modest  rank  of  the  inn  in  which 
they  had  found  refuge  —  but  they  were  amiable  and 
conversible,  virtues  not  always  found  in  their  superiors 
in  the  social  scale.  They  were  travelling  from  Flor- 
ence to  Rome  on  foot,  which  at  this  fine  season  of  the 
year  was  no  unwise  measure. 

The  next  morning  I  chartered  a  small  carriage 
drawn  by  a  single  horse,  much  like  a  four-wheeled 
chaise,  and  drove  over  to  Assissi.  I  stopped  at  an 
Etruscan  tomb  about  three  miles  from  Perugia,  on  the 
side  of  a  hill.  On  going  down  a  few  steps,  a  door  is 
unlocked,  which  leads  into  a  high  vaulted,  chamber,  the 
roof  of  which  is  composed  of  massive  pieces  of  traver- 
tine. Several  smaller  chambers  open  out  of  this.  In 
the  rear  is  an  inner  apartment,  not  so  large,  containing 
several  sarcophagi  made  of  stone,  and  covered  with  a 
sort  of  plaster.  The  relief  on  them  is  bold  and  ani- 


PERUGIA    AND    ASSISSI.  325 

mated.  There  is  also  a  Roman  sarcophagus  here.  A 
Medusa's  head  is  carved  on  the  roof  of  the  principal 
apartment,  upon  which  are  also  other  sculptured  ob- 
jects ;  such  as  human  heads  and  those  of  serpents. 
On  one  side  of  the  door  is  an  inscription,  which  has 
attracted  much  attention  from  archasologists.  The 
wh»le  tomb  is  very  interesting  and  impressive,  and 
there  are  probably  many  more  like  it  not  yet  exca- 
vated. Soon  after  leaving  the  tomb,  I  overtook  my 
English  acquaintances,  whose  knapsacks  I  had  with  me 
in  the  carriage  ;  and  by  a  little  squeezing  made  room 
for  them  also,  and  took  them  as  far  as  Sta.  Maria  degli 
Angeli,  where  we  parted ;  and  as  Bunyan  says,  they 
went  on  their  way  and  I  saw  them  no  more. 

The  Church  of  Sta.  Maria  degli  Angeli  is  a  splendid 
and  imposing  structure  which  has  been  restored,  almost 
rebuilt ;  having  been  greatly  injured  by  an  earthquake 
in  1832,  and  it  has,  in  consequence,  a  new  and  fresh 
appearance  not  common  in  Italian  churches.  The 
building  was  originally  erected  to  enclose  and  protect 
the  small  Gothic  chapel  in  which  St.  Francis  laid  the 
foundation  of  his  order.  It  has  a  fine  cupola  and  a 
nave  of  stately  proportions.  This  church  also  contains 
the  admirable  fresco  of  Overbeck,  representing  the 
vision  of  St.  Francis,  which  is  generally  esteemed  his 
masterpiece,  and  one  of  the  great  productions  of  the 
revived  school  of  Catholic  art.  Leaving  the1  Church  of 
Sta.  Maria  degli  Angeli,  I  drove  up  to  Assissi,  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  distant,  the  situation  of  which  is  well 
described  by  Dante, 

'  Fertile  costa  di  alto  monte  pende.' 


PERUGIA   AND   ASSISSI. 

The  view  as  one  approaches  to  it  is  very  fine  ;  for, 
besides  its  natural  advantages  of,  site,  its  towers  and 
battlements,  its  aqueduct  and  ruined  citadel  make  up  a 
picture  in  themselves.  After  entering  the  town,  there 
is  nothing  that  disappoints  the  expectation  or  breaks 
the  spell  of  old  enchantment  which  hangs  over  it. 
The  streets  are  silent,  narrow,  and  steep ;  the  houses, 
gray  and  tottering  with  age  ;  the  architectural  forms, 
solemn  and  mediaeval.  The  rushing  and  roaring  stream 
of  the  present  has  never  flowed  through  this  Pompeii  of 
the  thirteenth  century.  The  six  centuries  that  have 
swept  over  it  have  not  so  much  as  brushed  it  with  their 
wings.  The  whole  scene  seems  prepared  for  the  en- 
trance of  St.  Francis  himself,  with  his  brown  woollen 
robe  and  girdle  of  hemp,  upon  the  stage.  Assissi, 
even  more  than  Perugia,  is  stamped  with  the  image 
and  superscription  of  one  man.  The  forms  of  the 
landscape,  the  mountains  and  the  valleys,  the  woods 
and  the  rocks,  the  streets  and  the  houses,  are  all  vocal 
with  the  name  of  St.  Francis,  that  extraordinary  man 
whose  life  and  career  offer  even  to  Protestant  judg- 
ment so  much  occasion  for  wonder,  and  such  frequent 
cause  for  admiration.  The  Catholics  point  to  his  fervid 
and  burning  zeal  as  the  legitimate  growth  of  their  own 
faith,  and  contend  that  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Romish 
church  there  are  no  influences  that  could  have  given  it 
birth.  This  is  to  a  considerable  extent  true.  Nothing 
less  than  a  universal  Church,  which  clasped  the  whole 
human  race  in  its  folds  of  charity  and  compassion, 
could  have  inspired  such  fervor  of  self-devotion. 
Nor  could  such  lives  as  his  and  many  others  in  the 
annals  of  the  Romish  church  have  existed  without  the 


PERUGIA    AND    ASSISSI.  327 

element  of  celibacy.  The  influence  of  a  family  is 
always  rather  centripetal  than  centrifugal  —  tending  to 
keep  men  within  the  sphere  of  daily  duties  and  prac- 
tical toil,  and  restraining  all  erratic  and  enthusiastic 
impulses.  But  much  must  be  set  down  to  that  tem- 
perament which  the  fervor  of  a  southern  clime  burns 
into  the  frame.  Monachism  began  in  the  East,  where 
the  fierce  sun  beats  upon  the  yellow  sands  with  blind- 
ing and  scorching  power,  and  where  the  stars  of  mid- 
night shine  through  a  transparent  atmosphere  with 
such  splendor,  that  a  highly  wrought  imagination  can 
easily  interpret  their  rays  into  glances  of  encourage- 
ment or  rebuke.  There  is  a  vein  of  orientalism  in  the 
history,  literature,  and  art  of  Italy ;  and  the  life  of  St. 
Francis  is  a  picture  set  in  an  oriental  frame.  The 
part  of  Italy  in  which  he  was  born  is  a  region  of  moun- 
tain and  valley  —  the  heights  swept  by  cold  winds  and 
visited  by  snow  and  frost  in  winter  ;  but  the  lowlands 
in  summer  parched  with  long  continued  heat  —  in 
which  tracts  of  brown  grass,  treeless  hills,  and  bold 
rocky  eminences  recall  the  landscapes  of  Idumsea  and 
Palestine.  Italy,  Spain,  and  the  East  have  been  the 
birthplaces  and  homes,  not  only  of  anchorets,  pillar- 
saints,  and  ascetics,  but  of  men  who  have  carried  into 
life  the  ascetic  spirit ;  and  who,  while  moving  about 
upon  their  missions  of  love  and  faith,  were  visibly 
wasting  away  in  the  flames  of  devouring  zeal,  and,  in 
the  ecstasy  of  their  self-abasement,  welcomed  hunger, 
poverty,  fatigue,  contumely,  and  persecution,  not  mere- 
ly with  patience  but  with  rapture.  In  these  climes, 
nature  opens  wide  her  arms  of  companionship  and 
consolation  to  the  melancholy,  the  disappointed,  the 


328  PERUGIA  AND   ASS1SSI. 

penitent,  the  impassioned.  She  soothes  them  with 
her  golden  mornings,  the  floods  of  sunshine  that  break 
from  her"  cloudless  skies,  her  indescribable  sunsets,  her 
radiant  nights,  her  finest  voices,  and  her  mountain 
streams.  How  impossible  is  it  for  the  mind  to  blend 
such  figures  as  Simon  Stylites  or  St.  Francis  of  Assissi 
with  the  deep  snows,  the  dark  winter  days,  and  the 
gray  skies  of  Russia ! 

From  the  fact  that  Italy  preceded  England  so  much 
in  the  march  of  civilization  and  refinement,  it  happens 
that  the  men  and  the  events  of  Italian  history  appear 
nearer  than  those  of  England.  It  has  always  seemed 
strange  to  me  that  Raphael  was  born  about  the  time  of 
Bosworth  Field.  Fitness  and  proportion  would  seem 
to  make  him  a  contemporary  of  Milton.  When  we 
read  of  the  taste  and  civilization  of  Rome  in  the  time 
of  the  great  painter  —  the  graceful  entertainments  of 
the  nobility,  the  wit,  the  poetry,  the  music,  and  the  art 
that  embellished  life,  the  courtly  manners,  the  scholar- 
ship, the  extended  commerce  and  the  manufacturing 
skill  which  marked  the  period —  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  the  best  blood  in  England  were  then  dining  at  ten  ; 
that  their  dinners  were  composed  of  huge  masses  of 
fresh  and  salt  meat  spread  upon  a  great  oaken  table  ; 
that  their  food  was  shovelled  into  the  mouth  without 
the  help  of  a  fork ;  that  the  floor  of  their  dining-halls 
was  strewn  with  rushes,  among  which  their  dogs 
searched  and  fought  for  bones ;  and  that  in  the  inter- 
vals of  feasting,  their  minds  were  recreated  with  the 
postures  of  tumblers  and  the  coarse  jokes  of  licensed 
jesters.  St.  Francis  of  Assissi  was  born  in  1182, 
about  the  time  that  Henry  II.  of  England  was  mourn- 


PERUGIA   AND   ASSISSI.  329 

ing  over  first  the  ingratitude  and  then  the  death  of  his 
eldest  son  Prince  Henry.  But  when  we  go  to  Assissi 
and  see  and  feel  how  every  spot  in  the  landscape  is 
identified  with  the  saint  and  recalls  his  presence,  it  is 
difficult  to  believe  that  a  chasm  of  more  than  six  cen- 
turies is  opened  between  us  and  him.  It  is  not  easy  to 
find,  any  where,  in  any  country,  an  historical  person- 
age of  such  fresh  and  enduring  vitality.  When  we 
think  of  Richard  of  England,  and  of  Thomas  a  Becket, 
they  seem,  by  comparison,  to  recede  far  back  into  the 
night  of  time.  They  are  dim  shadows ;  but  St.  Fran- 
cis is  a  living  presence,  whose  name  is  carved  upon 
the  rocks  and  whispered  by  the  winds  and  the  waters. 
This  is  one  proof,  and  only  one  among  many,  of  the 
enduring  character  of  deep  religious  impressions,  and 
that  the  most  lasting  conquests  are  won  by  those  who 
fight  with  spiritual  weapons  against  spiritual  foes. 

The  church  and  convent  of  the  order  of  Sti.  Apos- 
toli  at  Assissi  stand  at  one  extremity  of  the  town,  and 
form  a  most  imposing  group  of  buildings  in  which  the 
pointed  arches  of  the  Gothic  are  blended,  not  inhar- 
moniously,  with  a  massive  square  campanile.  Their 
general  aspect  resembles  a  fortress  rather  than  a 
church.  The  entrance  lies  through  a  kind  of  cortile, 
with  rows  of  arches  on  either  hand,  above  which  on 
one  side  a  stately  terrace  is  reared.  The  upper  church 
is  a  Gothic  structure ;  with  glorious  painted  windows 
and  a  roof  of  five  compartments ;  three  of  which  are 
adorned  with  frescoes  by  Cimabue,  and  two  contain 
gold  stars  on  a  blue  ground.  The  upper  portion  of  the 
walls  of  the  nave  has  also  a  series  of  works  by  the 
same  venerable  hand,  representing  subjects  from  the 


330  PERUGIA    AND    ASS1SSI. 

Old  and  New  Testaments.  These  designs  are  memo- 
rable in  the  history  of  art,  as  marking  an  epoch  as  dis- 
tinct as  the  advent  of  Chaucer  in  English  literature; 
and  they  are  contemplated  and  estimated  by  lovers  of 
art  with  a  feeling  too  reverential  for  criticism.  We  see 
in  them,  dimmed  as  they  are  by  time,  the  successful 
efforts  of  a  man  of  original  genius  to  break  out  of  the 
rigid  conventionalism  of  the  Byzantine  school ;  at  least, 
successful  in  part,  for  art  in  his  hands  was  not  wholly 
emancipated,  but,  like  Milton's  lion,  was  yet  pawing  to 
get  free  from  the  clods  which  held  it  imprisoned  until 
it  yielded  to  the  stronger  arm  of  Giotto. 

This  upper  church,  though  Gothic  in  its  forms,  is 
not  Gothic  in  its  gloom ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  filled 
with  glowing  and  brilliant  light,  through  which  the 
fading  forms  of  saints  and  apostles  strike  upon  the  eye 
with  strange  power.  It  is  much  less  crowded  than 
most  Italian  churches,  and  a  silence  like  that  of  the 
grave  broods  over  its  spaces.  The  attention  is  not 
disturbed  by  streams  of  worshippers  going  and  coming ; 
nor  is  the  sense  of  reverence  offended  by  a  mass  of 
trumpery  and  incongruous  details  in  plaster,  gilding, 
and  wax.  The  falling  step  awakens  echoes  that  seem 
to  have  been  long  slumbering.  The  whole  effect  of 
this  upper  church  is  highly  impressive,  partly  from 
what  is  addressed  to  the  eye  and  partly  from  what  is 
addressed  to  the  mind.  The  spiritual  forms  of  Gothic 
architecture  make  a  stronger  impression  upon  one 
coming  from  the  South  from  their  contrast  with  the 
gayer  and  more  secular  character  of  Roman  churches. 

On  descending  into  the  lower  church,  a  different 
scene  presents  itself.  The  upper  church,  with  its  high 


PERUGIA    AND    ASSISSI.  331 

room,  its  ample  spaces,  and  its  glorious  lights,  breathes 
of  the  peace  and  serenity  of  heaven  ;  but  the  lower, 
heavy-vaulted  and  gloomy,  suggests  the  sorrows  and 
struggles  of  earth.  It  is  a  perfect  treasure-house  and 
museum  of  art,  containing  a  multitude  of  curious  or 
beautiful  works,  many  of  which,  however,  can  hardly 
be  seen  in  the  dim  light.  Here  are  those  three  won- 
derful frescoes  by  Giotto,  the  Dante  of  painting,  typi- 
fying the  Poverty,  Obedience,  and  Chastity  which  St. 
Francis  enjoined  upon  his  followers ;  and  also  a  fourth 
representing  the  glorification  of  the  Saint.  There  are 
many  works  by  his  followers  and  pupils,  and  by  later 
artists,  various  in  style  and  unequal  in  merit,  but  all 
appropriate  to  the  spirit  of  the  place  and  deeply  pene- 
trated with  religious  feeling.  There  are  also  some 
sepulchral  monuments  and  some  rich  painted  glass. 
To  all  these  striking  and  instructive  objects  I  could 
only  give  hasty  and  superficial  glances,  though  they 
would  have  rewarded  the  patient  study  of  many  days. 
Below  the  lower  church  there  is  a  kind  of  cellar,  in 
which  is  the  sepulchre  of  St.  Francis  hewn  out  of  the 
solid  rock. 

After  leaving  the  church  I  was  glad  to  relieve  my 
overtasked  faculties  by  a  stroll  about  the  town.  In 
the  piazza  is  the  magnificent  portico  of  the  temple  of 
Minerva,  with  six  fluted  columns  and  a  pediment,  of 

which  Goethe  has  written  in  such  animated  terms.     I 

• 

drove  back  to  Perugia  in  the  glow  of  a  declining  sun, 
and  though  in  a  very  light  carriage,  the  road  for  the 
last  mile  was  so  steep  as  to  require  the  help  of  a  pair 
of  oxen. 


PERUGIA    TO    FLORENCE. 
PERUGIA    TO    FLORENCE. 

The  next  morning  I  left  Perugia  early  in  a  vettura 
for  Florence.  My  companions  were  three  Italians, 
respectable  in  appearance  and  very  well-mannered. 
The  day  was  not  entirely  pleasant,  though  we  had  sun- 
shine enough  to  light  up  the  beautiful  lake  of  Thrasi- 
mene,  which  looked  so  peaceful  and  gentle  that  it  was 
difficult  to  believe  that  its  banks  had  ever  been  trampled 
with  the  feet  of  contending  armies,  or  its  waters  red- 
dened with  their  blood.  We  stopped  to  lunch  at  a  post 
station  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  crowned  by  Cortona,  to 
which  I  looked  up  with  longing  eyes,  but  had  no  time 
to  do  any  thing  more.  On  a  small  house  opposite  the 
inn  was  one  of  those  inflated  inscriptions,  so  common 
in  Italy,  announcing  in  very  stately  Latin  that  Pius  VI. 
visited  it  on  his  return  from  France,  and  '  filled  it  with 
the  splendor  of  his  dignity.'  The  post-house  at  which 
we  stopped  seemed  to  be  under  the  management  of 
three  sisters,  handsome  and  graceful  young  women, 
who  glided  about  their  duties  with  a  smiling  alacrity 
which  would  make  any  reasonable  traveller  submit  to 
overcharge  of  at  least  ten  per  cent,  on  his  bills.  We 
reached  Arezzo  about  an  hour  before  sunset,  and  had 
time  to  walk  the  town  and.  see  the  house  in  which 
Petrarch  was  born,  the  fine  Loggie  of  Vasari,  author, 
painter,  and  architect ;  the  Palazzo  Publico,  covered  all 
over  with  the  armorial  bearings  of  the  Podestas  ;  the 
singular  Church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Pieve  ;  and  the 
Cathedral,  the  interior  of  which  is  solemn,  splendid,  and 
magnificent,  with  glorious  painted  windows,  the  finest 
in  Italy  ;  a  highly  elaborate  and  beautiful  tomb,  erected 


PERUGIA    TO    FLORENCE.  333 

to  the  memory  of  Guido  Tarlatti ;  and  a  striking  pic- 
ture, Judith  shewing  the  head  of  Holofernes,  by  Ben- 
venuti,  an  artist  of  our  own  times,  of  the  classical  school 
of  Camuccini.  The  lovers  of  good  poetry  and  good 
wine  should  not  forget  that  in  this  cathedral  lies  buried 
Redi,  the  author  of  '  Bacco  in  Toscana.'  The  situa- 
tion of  Arezzo  is  very  beautiful,  and  as  we  came  out  of 
the  cathedral  the  setting  sun  was  breaking  out  of  the 
clouds,  and  covering  the  broad  landscape  with  rich 
golden  lights  and  long  shadows.  A  space  behind  the 
cathedral  is  laid  out  as  a  public  walk,  from  which  the 
eye  ranges  over  a  region  of  country  large  enough  to 
make  a  German  principality. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  steady  rain,  and  my  jour- 
ney left  nothing  of  sufficient  interest  to  be  recorded. 
We  reached  Florence  between  four  and  five  in  one  of 
those  hearty  and  downright  rains  which,  at  least,  do  not 
tease  one  with  expectations  of  clearing  up,  which  are 
destined  to  end  in  constant  disappointment.  I  thought 
it  rather  unlucky  that  I  should  enter  Florence  a  second 
time,  and  find  it  veiled,  as  before,  in  rain  and  cloud. 
The  weather  improving  a  little  towards  sunset,  I  walked 
out  along  the  Arno  and  Piazza  del  Gran'  Duca,  de- 
lighted to  greet  once  more  those  noble  architectural 
forms  which  all  the  waters  of  Rome  had  not  washed  out 
from  my  memory.  I  saw  again  the  same  pretty  flower- 
girl,  in  the  same  Leghorn  hat,  and  with  the  same  smile 
carved  upon  her  lips  ;  and  alas  !  the  same  wooden  case 
over  the  David  of  Michael  Angelo  which  I  had  left  in 
December. 

My  journey  from  Rome  to  Florence  occupied  eight 
days,  two  of  which  were  given  to  Perugia  and  Assissi ; 


PERUGIA    TO    FLORENCE. 

and  there  is  no  portion  of  my  time  spent  in  Italy  that  I 
look  back  upon  with  more  vivid  pleasure.  The  picture 
which  these  days  has  left  in  the  memory  is  made  up  of 
beautiful  scenery,  soft  vernal  weather,  picturesque  old 
towns,  mediaeval  architecture,  and  most  touching  and 
impressive  revelations  of  art.  To  move  along  this  re- 
gion, and  through  these  quaint,  sleepy,  venerable  places, 
with  their  walls,  their  towers,  their  gates,  and  their 
churches,  is  like  reading  a  leaf  out  of  the  chronicle  of 
Villani,  or  the  Divina  Com  media  of  Dante.  Nor  is  this 
pleasure  to  be  purchased  by  any  thing  more  than  trifling 
discomforts  and  inconveniences.  The  inns  are  at  least 
decent,  and  the  food  tolerable.  Let  me  also  give  my 
willing  testimony  in  favor  of  the  people;  for  I  had 'met 
with  uniform  courtesy  and  civility,  and  no  one  had 
attempted  to  overreach  or  overcharge  me.  My  com- 
panions in  the  diligence  and  the  vettura  were  of  the 
middle  class  and  not  highly  educated,  but  their  manners 
were  gentlemanly  and  engaging,  and  marked  with  a 
constant  recognition  of  my  claims  as  a  stranger  in  the 
land.  The  Italians  are  naturally  of  a  fine  organization, 
readily  taking  the  polish  of  gentle  speech  and  courteous 
deportment.  When  I  compared  my  last  impressions  of 
the  Italians  with  my  first,  I  felt  that  I  had  taken  one 
lesson  more  on  the  rashness  of  hasty  judgments.  Let 
me  earnestly  advise  all  persons  who  may  visit  Italy,  on 
no  account  to  forego  this  land  route  between  Rome  and 
Florence,  and  not  to  yield  to  the  temptation  held  out  by 
a  rapid  passage  in  the  steamer  between  Civita  Vecchia 
and  Leghorn.  Let  them  also  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  get 
over  the  ground.  Three  or  four  days  for  Perugia  and 
Assissi,  a  day  for  Arezzo,  and  another  for  Cortona,  are 


LUCCA.  335 

none  too  much.  Assissi,  especially,  is  a  place  unlike 
any  other  —  unique  in  its  aspect  —  unique  in  the  im- 
pression that  it  makes.  Its  venerable  double  church  — 
hallowed  by  the  devotion  of  so  many  generations,  and 
crowded  by  so  many  works  of  Christian  art,  which 
overshadow  the  whole  structure  with  the  spirit  of  prayer 
and  praise  —  is  to  a  Roman  Church,  what  an  antique 
missal,  written  on  parchment  and  glowing  with  minia- 
tures, whose  colors  rival  the  flowers  of  spring  or  the 
leaves  of  autumn,  is  to  a  decorated  volume  from  the 
press  of  London  or  Paris.  Perugia  is  more  various  and 
hardly  less  impressive,  with  an  incomparable  situation 
—  commanding  views  boundless  in  extent  and  glorious 
in  the  combination  of  objects  they  comprise  —  and  rich 
in  the  best  works  of  an  original  artist.  Life,  indeed,  is 
short,  and  art  is  long,  and  all  things  cannot  be  seen ; 
but  thrift  and  resolution  can  do  much,  and  let  them  not 
fail  to  see  Perugia  and  Assissi. 

I  left  Florence  at  noon  on  a  beautiful  spring  day, 
which  made  that  charming  city  and  its  more  charming 
environs  look  like  a  bride  decked  for  the  altar,  and,  by 
diligence  and  rail,  arrived  at  Leghorn  at  about  seven. 
I  found  my  old  quarters  at  the  excellent  hotel  San 
Marco  as  comfortable  as  ever,  and  its  landlord,  Mr. 
Giovanni  Smith,  whose  looks  and  manners  are,  like  his 
name,  a  pleasant  combination  of  Italy  and  England, 
as  obliging  and  gentlemanly  as  before. 

LUCCA. 

The  next  morning  the  steamer  not  having  appeared, 
I  took  the  opportunity  to  run  up  to  Pisa  and  Lucca. 


336  LUCCA. 

Leaving  Leghorn  at  half  past  ten,  I  had  about  an  hour 
for  Pisa,  which  I  spent  in  the  cathedral,  admiring  anew, 
with  a  more  trained  eye,  its  imposing  interior,  and  study- 
ing the  breathing  seraphs  in  bronze,  by  John  of  Bologna, 
the  capitals  of  the  columns  in  the  choir,  the  wood-work 
of  the  nave,  and  the  small  marble  figures  around  the 
pulpit.  I  reached  Lucca  between  twelve  and  one,  and 
went  first  to  the  Church  of  San  Romano  to  see  the  cel- 
ebrated Madonna  della  Misericordia,  by  Fra  Bartolo- 
meo.  Much  as  I  had  heard  of  this  picture,  and  high  as 
were  my  expectations,  the  sight  of  it  fairly  took  me  off 
my  feet.  The  Virgin,  a  beautiful  figure  full  of  feeling 
and  truth,  stands  with  uplifted  hands,  in  the  attitude  of 
supplication.  Above  is  God  the  Father,  with  several 
cherubs  and  a  tablet,  on  which  are  the  words  '  Miserior 
supra  turbam.'  Behind  the  Virgin,  cherubs  are  holding 
a  sort  of  canopy  over  a  large  number  of  persons.  In 
front  are  many  portrait  figures.  An  old  woman  in  red 
is  admirable  —  also  a  kneeling  magistrate  in  a  robe  of 
the  same  color,  and  an  ecclesiastic,  his  brother.  It  is 
not  easy  to  say  in  what  respect  this  wonderful  picture 
falls  short  of  the  best  works  of  the  best  masters.  Draw- 
ing, coloring,  and  expression  are  all  fine  ;  the  compo- 
sition, noble  ;  the  draperies,  beautifully  managed  ;  and 
its  tenderness  and  devotion,  most  admirable.  Kugler 
says  of  this  great  painter,  that  '  generally  speaking, 
we  feel  the  want  of  that  inward  power  so  essential  to 
the  perfection,  and  even  conception  of  grand  and  ele- 
vated subjects.'  With  deference  to  so  high  an  author- 
ity, this  seems  to  me  to  be  a  hasty  and  erroneous  judg- 
ment. Surely  his  works  in  Lucca,  and  his  admirable 
St.  Mark  in  Florence,  must  have  slipped  out  of  the 


LUCCA.  337 

critic's  memory  when  he  wrote  this  disparaging  re- 
mark. In  them  there  is  no  want  of  inward  power,  no 
want  of  elevation  and  grandeur ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
truth,  religious  feeling,  correct  drawing,  and  especially 
a  splendid  tone  of  coloring  which  is  only  to  be  equalled 
in  the  Venetian  school.  In  the  same  church  is  another 
work  by  him,  of  uncommon  merit :  St.  Catharine  and 
Mary  Magdalen  are  kneeling,  and  the  Almighty,  above. 
Mary  Magdalen  is  in  red,  and  holding  a  vase  —  St. 
Catharine  in  a  kind  of  monastic  robe  of  yellow  —  both 
admirable  figures.  In  the  cloisters  are  some  curious 
old  frescoes  illustrating  the  life  of  St.  Dominic.  In  one, 
he  is  hauling  the  devil  along  with  very  little  ceremony, 
much  like  a  constable  dragging  an  unwilling  culprit  to 
prison. 

The  Cathedral  front  is  a  singular  architectural  struc- 
ture —  a  forest  of  columns,  no  two  of  which  are  alike, 
arranged  in  tiers  and  arches  over  one  another.  There 
are  many  curious  objects  in  the  atrium  —  bas-reliefs,  in- 
scriptions, and  monsters  carved  in  marble.  The  inte- 
rior is  very  fine,  especially  the  gallery  filled  with  the 
richest  Gothic  tracery,  and  the  painted  glass  of  the 
windows.  The  roof  is  colored  in  fresco,  and  the  pave- 
ment is  in  mosaic.  The  sacristan,  an  old  man,  '  fat 
and  scant  of  breath,'  lame  with  the  gout  and  op- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  the  dignity  of  his  office,  took 
me  first  into  the  sacristy  and  shewed  me  a  very  inter- 
esting picture  by  Ghirlandajo,  the  Virgin  attended  by 
several  saints.  The  head  of  St.  Peter  is  especially  fine. 
Below,  is  a  long,  narrow  picture,  representing  events 
in  the  lives  of  saints,  painted  with  great  neatness  and 
delicacy.  Then  we  went  into  the  body  of  the  church 
VOL.  ii.  22 


338  LUCCA. 

and  saw  a  beautiful  picture,  by  Daniel  da  Volterra, 
Sta.  Petronilla.  In  a  chapel  is  a  work  by  Fra  Bartolo- 
meo  —  the  Virgin  and  Child,  with  St.  Stephen  and  John 
the  Baptist  ;  and  below,  a  Child-Angel  singing  to  a 
lute.  This  is  a  very  delightful  and  cordial  composition. 
The  angel  is  singing  with  a  heart  full  of  music  and  a 
face  full  of  heaven.  The  child  in  the  Madonna's  lap 
is  listening  to  the  strain,  and  his  little  form  seems  flut- 
tering with  delight,  while  a  faint,  soft  smile  of  sympa- 
thy plays  round  the  mother's  lips.  What  a  soul  that 
cloistered  monk  must  have  had  — '  who  never  had  a 
child '  —  to  paint  a  picture  so  full  of  human  as  well  as 
divine  feeling  !  There  is  an  excellent  Visitation,  by 
Ligozzi,  a  pupil  of  Paul  Veronese,  and  an  artist  of  con- 
siderable merit,  though  not  much  known.  A  Presenta- 
tion, by  Bronzino,  is  good  ;  as  is  also  a  Last  Supper, 
by  Tintoretto.  The  marble  chapel  in  which  the  Volto 
Santo  —  an  ancient  crucifix  carved  in  cedar,, and  only 
shewn  on  great  occasions  —  is  kept,  has  a  lamp  of  pure 
gold  hanging  before  it,  a  votive  offering  of  the  Luc- 
chesi,  when  their  devotion  was  quickened  by  the  ap- 
proach of  the  cholera.  Behind  the  chapel  is  a  fine 
statue  of  St.  Sebastian,  by  Civitali.  There  are  also 
some  other  works  by  this  artist,  who  was  a  native  of 
Lucca,  and  flourished  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  He  was  a  barber  for  the  first  forty  years 
of  his  life,  and  then  became  suddenly  a  sculptor, 
and  attained  to  considerable  eminence  in  his  new  pro- 
fession. 

The  situation  of  Lucca,  in  the  lap  of  an  amphitheatre 
of  hills,  is  very  pleasant ;  and  the  walk  upon  the  ram- 
parts is  one  of  the  finest  promenades  in  Europe.  There 


LUCCA.  339 

is  a  noble  aqueduct  of  four  hundred  and  fifty-nine 
arches,  which  makes  a  most  picturesque  feature  in  the 
landscape.  The  weather  was  beautiful,  the  outlines  qf 
the  neighboring  hills  were  rounded  into  the  finest 
curves,  and  the  level  plain  near  at  hand,  under  the 
most  careful  cultivation,  was  revelling* in  the  vivid 
yellow-green  of  spring.  The  whole  population  seemed 
to  be  out  of  doors.  The  women  wear  a  graceful  head- 
dress—  a  sort  of  handkerchief  trimmed  with  lace  and 
disposed  with  much  taste.  A  walk  under  the  arches  of 
the  aqueduct  was  a  most  agreeable  refreshment,  after 
all  the  sight-seeing  of  the  previous  hours.  1  left  Lucca 
at  a  quarter  before  five,  and  reached  Leghorn  at  half 
past  six.  I  noticed  that  the  locomotive  on  the  railway 
was  of  Philadelphia  manufacture  —  a  small  dividend 
contributed  in  the  shape  of  the  useful  arts,  by  the  new 
world,  towards  paying  off  that  great  debt  of  gratitude 
which  all  mankind  owes  to  Italy  for  what  it  has  done  in 
the  fine  arts. 

The  brief  excursion  to  Lucca  was  a  most  agreeable 
experience,  and  as  I  have  begun  to  give  advice  let  me 
say,  that  this  neat  and  beautifully  situated  town  should 
at  least  have  a  day  devoted  to  it.  The  view  of  the  glo- 
rious company  of  hills  that  stand  round  about  it,  as  seen 
from  the  ramparts,  is  alone  worth  coming  up  'from 
Leghorn  to  look  at.  The  statues  and  bas-reliefs  of 
Civitali  —  an  artist  whose  works  are  hardly  to  be  found 
any  where  else  —  have  a  character  and  expression  of 
their  own,  and  mark  a  distinct  period  in  the  history  of 
sculpture.  And,  above  all,  that  great  artist,  Fra  Bar- 
tolomeo,  is  in  his  glory  at  Lucca,  and  no  one,  who  has 
not  been  there,  can  have  any  adequate  conception  of 


340  LUCCA. 

the  power  and  grandeur  of  his  genius.  The  impression 
his  works  made  upon  me  is,  I  admit,  not  quite  borne  out 
by  the  rank  assigned  to  him  by  writers  upon  art,  but 
my  recollections,  which  are  most  distinct,  confirm  the 
testimony  of  records  made  upon  the  spot.  To  me, 
his  reputation  seems  below  his  merits,  and  I  cannot 
but  think  that  it  would  have  been  higher,  if  the  ad- 
mirable works  which  adorn  a  provincial  capital  like 
Lucca,  had  found  a  place  of  deposit  in  the  Pitti  Palace 
or  the  Vatican,  where  every  traveller  could  have  seen 
them  and  every  writer  could  have  praised  them.  I 
know  not  what  heights  of  art  he  might  not  have  reached 
under  more  favorable  circumstances  of  development, 
or  with  a  character  of  firmer  tone.  Had  he  been  a 
braver  and  heartier  spirit,  and  mingled  freely  in  the 
shocks  of  life,  instead  of  running  and  hiding  his  head 
in  a  monastery  at  the  first  blast  of  danger,  and  thus 
added  variety,  invention,  and  dramatic  power  to  his 
other  gifts,  he  might  have  rivalled  every  name  but 
Raphael's.  But  it  is  much  better,  so  far  as  the  interest 
of  travelling  in  Italy  is  concerned,  that  all  the  good 
pictures  should  not  be  in  one  place,  but  that  they  must 
be  sought  in  many  separate  localities.  It  is  agreeable 
to  know  that  you  can  judge  of  certain  painters  only  by 
going  to  certain  spots.  It  establishes  a  relation  be- 
tween an  artist  and  the  place  where  he  lived  or 
wrought,  which  throws  over  Ms  works  a  grace  like  the 
flavor  which  wine  has,  to  the  mind's  taste  at  least, 
when  drunk  on  the  soil  of  its  growth.  Titian,  for  in- 
stance, must  be  seen  at  Venice  ;  Correggio,  at  Parma  ; 
Luini,  at  Milan  ;  Perugino,  at  Perugia  ;  Fra  Bartolo- 
meo,  at  Lucca  ;  Guido  and  the  Caraccis,  at  Bologna. 


GENOA.  341 


GENOA. 

The  next  day,  in  the  afternoon,  I  went  on  board  the 
steamer  for  Genoa  and  Marseilles.  It  was  very  full  of 
passengers,  nearly  all  of  whom  were  English,  and 
there  were  three  English  travelling  carriages  on  the 
deck.  The  night  was  very  lovely  ;  the  moon  bright, 
and  the  sea  as  smooth  as  a  mill-pond.  For  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  I  found  myself  at  sea  without  being 
miserable.  We  reached  Genoa  the  next  morning  be- 
fore day,  and  it  was  a  beautiful  spectacle  to  see  the 
light  break  over  the  bay  and  the  encircling  hills. 

Engravings  and  descriptions  have  made  the  situation 
of  Genoa  familiar  even  to  those  who  have  not  seen  it. 
It  is  a  cluster  of  palaces,  of  brilliant  white,  crowded 
together  at  the  base  of  a  mountain  of  semicircular 
form,  the  sides  of  which  are  dotted  with  gay,  suburban 
villas.  The  sweeps  and  curves  of  the  hollow,  crescent- 
shaped  mountain  are  in  animated  contrast  with  the 
level  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  the  brilliant  white  of 
the  houses  is  distinctly  brought  out  by  the  dark  back- 
ground behind  and  above  them.  All  this  was  very 
beautiful  as  it  gradually  glowed  into  day  and  put  on  the 
imperial  robes  of  morning,  but  when  the  first  shock  of 
surprise  and  pleasure  had  passed  by,  I  could  not  help 
feeling  how  very  small  it  all  was.  It  looked  like  a 
clever  scene  in  an  opera :  the  lifting  of  the  darkness 
was  like  the  rising  of  the  curtain.  The  portion  of  the 
harbor  enclosed  by  the  moles  had  the  appearance  of  a 
good-sized  swimming-school  —  and  as  if  the  moles 
were  portable  and  could  be  folded  up  and  taken  in  at 
night. 


342  GENOA. 

After  breakfast,  I  sallied  out  to  see  as  much  as  could 
be  seen  in  half  a  day.  The  streets  of  Genoa,  as  every 
body  knows,  are  very  up  and  down,  very  narrow,  and 
with  very  high  houses  on  either  hand.  These  houses, 
in  the  principal  streets,  are  superb  structures  of  marble 
built  in  a  rich  and  shewy  style  of  architecture,  which 
to  a  stranger  seem  rather  incongruous  with  the  narrow 
and  crowded  spaces  in  which  they  are  huddled  togeth- 
er. Genoa  thus  may  be  compared  to  a  cluster  of 
shafts  cut  through  a  quarry  of  marble. 

I  went  first  to  the  Cathedral,  of  which  I  retain  but  a 
faint  recollection.  There  is  a  singular  effect  produced 
in  the  interior  by  alternate  courses  of  black  and  white 
marble.  There  are  several  pictures  and  statues  and 
rich  chapels  shining  with  marble  and  gilding,  upon  all 
of  which  I  threw  a  hasty  glance,  but  saw  nothing  that 
deserved  a  second  look.  After  walking  through  sev- 
eral streets  with  constant  admiration  of  the  fine  archi- 
tectural effects  on  either  hand,  and  over  a  noble  bridge 
which  joins  two  hills,  and  from  which  you  look  down 
upon  the  chimneys  of  houses  which  are  six  or  seven 
stories  high,  I  came  to  the  Church  of  Sta.  Maria  di 
Carignano.  The  effect  of  the  interior  is  very  pleasing, 
and  there  are  four  colossal  statues,  two  by  David  and 
two  by  Puget,  which  have  considerable  merit.  From 
the  cupola  on  the  top  there  is  a  fine  view  of  the  city, 
the  hills,  and  the  sea. 

The  Palazzo  Brignole  Sale  is  a  splendid  palace  with 
an  admirable  collection  of  pictures,  which  bears  well 
the  recollections  of  Rome  and  Florence.  I  was  much 
struck  with  a  work,  by  Castiglione  if  I  remember  right, 
representing  a  scene  from  the  life  of  Abraham.  On 


GENOA.  343 

one  side,  the  two  boys  Isaac  and  Ishmael  are  strug- 
gling together  —  the  former  evidently  second  best  — 
and  Hagar  is  endeavoring  to  part  them,  with  a  counte- 
nance of  ominous  foreboding.  In  the  foreground,  Sarah 
is  speaking  to  Abraham,  with  an  expression  upon  her 
face  which  says  as  plainly  as  words  could  say,  '  You 
see  how  it  is.  I  cannot  stand  this  any  longer,  and  one 
thing  is  certain  ;  either  she  or  I  must  go.'  Abraham 
has  the  look  of  a  man  sorely  perplexed,  as  if  he 
thought  something  must  be  done  but  did  not  know 
exactly  what.  The  subject  is  not  treated  in  an  ideal 
way,  and  the  result  is  not  a  work  of  high  art ;  but  it 
has  truth  and  dramatic  power,  and  the  story  is  told  in 
a  natural  and  homely  way.  By  Rubens,  there  are  por- 
traits of  himself  and  his  wife,  powerful  but  coarse. 
There  is  a  portrait  by  Holbein,  hard,  but  vigorous  and 
lifelike.  There  is  an  excellent  portrait  of  a  man  with 
a  book  in  his  hand,  by  Bassano.  An  Adoration  of  the 
Magi,  by  Bonifazio,  is  natural  and  finely  colored.  The 
Virgin  and  Saints,  by  Guercino,  is  an  admirable  work  — 
I  think,  the  best  thing  of  his  I  have  ever  seen.  There 
is  an  excellent  Madonna,  by  Andrea  del  Sarto  —  a 
capital  Vandyke,  the  Pharisees  questioning  our  Lord 
about  the  tribute-money  —  a  beautiful  work  by  Piola, 
a  Holy  Family,  in  which  St.  John  offers  a  butterfly  to 
the  infant  Saviour ;  an  admirable  portrait,  by  Rubens ; 
and  a  charming  Madonna,  by  Bordone. 

This  gallery  is  especially  rich  in  portraits,  by  Van- 
dyke, many  of  them  of  members  of  the  family.  There 
is  a  full-length  of  the  Marchioness  Geromina  Brignole, 
with  her  daughter,  a  little  girl,  by  her  side.  The  lady 
is  not  handsome,  and  she  is  dressed  in  a  hideous  ruff 


344  GENOA. 

that  injures  the  air  of  the  head,  but  the  child  is  lovely; 
and  the  picture,  as  a  work  of  art,  is  of  the  highest 
merit.  But  the  gems  of  the  whole  collection  are  the 
portraits  of  the  Marquis  and  Marchioness  Brignole 
Sale,  which  hang  opposite  to  each  other  in  one  of  the 
rooms.  The  Marquis  is  on  horseback,  a  noble  figure, 
dressed  in  black,  with  his  hat  in  his  right  hand  and  the 
reins  in  his  left ;  the  face  and  form  full  of  dignity  and 
grace  ;  every  inch  a  gentleman.  The  Marchioness  is 
a  full-length  figure,  in  rather  an  awkward  dress  of 
black,  with  a  large,  disfiguring  ruff,  a  feather  fastened 
into  ihe  hair  at  the  back  of  the  head,  and  a  rose  in  her 
hand.  This  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  portraits  ever 
painted.  There  is  a  winning  sweetness  and  softness  in 
the  expression  of  the  eyes,  and  a  light  bloom  plays 
round  the  cheeks  and  the  lips  which  seem  just  ready  to 
break  into  a  smile.  She  stands  before  you  so  full  of 
rich,  warm  life  —  so  breathing  an  image  of  youth  and 
grace  and  sweetness  —  that  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  all 
that  remains  of  so  rare  a  '  piece  of  well-formed  earth ' 
is  but  a  handfull  of  dust.  The  picture  is  as  fresh  as 
if  the  painter  were  just  cleaning  his  brushes  after 
the  last  touch  had  been  given  to  it,  and  one  expects  to 
hear  a  door  open  and  catch  the  light  step  and  rustling 
silk  of  the  fair  original.  Its  fascination  is  indescriba- 
ble, and  I  found  it  hard  to  leave  the  room  in  which  it 
hangs.  There  is  a  certain  degree  of  companionship 
in  an  animated  portrait  of  any  one  who  has  really 
lived,  beyond  what  we  feel  in  looking  at  an  ideal  head  ; 
not  only  from  the  help  which  the  imagination  gives, 
but  because  ideal  heads  rarely  have  the  sharp  individu- 
ality of  portraiture ;  and  when  the  truth  of  the  repre- 


GENOA.  345 

sentation  is  enhanced  by  the  charm  of  those  delicate 
and  vanishing  feminine  graces  which  painters  so  rarely 
succeed  in  catching,  the  force  of  the  attraction  is  pro- 
portionately increased.  To  me,  there  is  something 
profoundly  touching  in  the  pictured  face  of  youth  and 
beauty  that  lived  and  died  two  or  three  centuries  ago. 
It  brings  together,  in  such  vivid  contrast,  the  mortal 
nature  of  the  subject,  and  the  immortal  power  of  the 
mind  which  grasped  and  arrested  it.  It  is  the  most 
striking  commentary  upon  the  text  that  life  is  short 
and  art  is  long.  The  glowing  face  and  the  cunning 
hand  have  long  been  dust,  but  both  live  upon  the 
breathing  canvas  to  proclaim  at  once  the  power  of 
genius  and  the  power  of  beauty. 

In  the  Palazzo  Serra  is  a  famous  saloon,  which  is 
all  ablaze  with  gilding,  marble,  and  mirrors.  The 
preparation  of  this  room  is  said  to  have  cost  the  in- 
credible sum  of  a  million  of  francs.  If  so,  never  was 
money  more  unprofitably  spent.  The  result  is  a  cold 
waste  of  heartless  dazzle  and  glitter.  I  would  rather 
live  in  a  garret,  with  one  such  picture  as  that  of  the 
Marchioness  Brignole  Sale,  smiling  upon  me  from  the 
wall,  than  in  the  chilling  splendor  of  a  room  like  this. 

In  the  Palazzo  Durazzo,  which  has  a  fine  staircase 
of  marble,  is  a  beautiful  Magdalen  by  Titian,  the  Trib- 
ute Money,  by  Guercino  —  an  expressive  and  admir- 
able picture  —  and  a  very  good  work  by  Procaccini,  the 
Woman  taken  in  Adultery.  There  are  also  a  Sleeping 
Child,  by  Guido,  very  pleasing  and  graceful,  a  good 
Domenichino  —  the  Saviour  appearing  to  the  Virgin 
after  the  Resurrection,  a  portrait  of  Phillip  IV.  by 
Rubens,  full  of  character,  and  three  Vandykes ;  one 


346  GENOA. 

representing  the  young  Tobias;  one,  a  little  boy  in  a 
white  dress,  full  of  grace  and  feeling:  and  the  third, 
three  children  of  the  Durazzo  family. 

The  Church  of  the  Annunciata,  into  which  I  looked 
for  a  moment,  has  a  splendid  interior  crowded  with 
rich  marbles,  gilding,  and  painting  ;  but  how  inferior 
is  the  effect  of  such  confusing  magnificence  to  the 
elevating  unity  of  impression  made  by  the  old  church 
at  Assissi !  The  latter  is  like  a  mass  by  Allegri  or  an 
organ  fugue  by  Sebastian  Bach ;  the  former,  like  a 
noisy  overture  by  Verdi,  which  leaves  the  ear  stunned 
with  noise  and  giddy  with  a  whirl  of  notes,  but  the 
mind  just  where  it  was  at  the  beginning. 

After  leaving  this  church,  I  walked  about  the  streets 
for  some  time.  Went  into  the  Loggia  de'  Banchi  and 
saw  the  picture  of  the  Holy  Family,  by  Piola,  which  is 
painted  on  stone  and  covered  with  glass,  in  the  middle 
of  the  street  of  the  goldsmiths.  It  is  a  very  beautiful 
work,  and  has  a  melancholy  interest  when  we  remem- 
ber that  the  artist  who  painted  it  was  assassinated  at 
the  early  age  of  twenty-two;  and  as  some  say,  from 
envy  excited  by  the  excellence  of  this  very  picture. 
Had  he  lived,  he  could  hardly  have  failed  to  become 
very  eminent.  Among  the  other  pleasant  things  which 
I  saw  in  Genoa,  the  becoming  head-dress  of  the  women 
is  not  to  be  forgotten.  It  is  something  betwen  a  veil 
and  a  shawl,  of  white  linen  or  muslin,  thrown  over  the 
head  and  falling  down  and  flowing  into  the  rest  of  the 
costume  in  a  way  which  masculine  eyes  can  more 
easily  approve  than  masculine  pen  can  describe. 

I  went  on  board  the  steamer  again  about  noon,  and 
found  it  comparatively  deserted.  Most  of  the  English 


GENOA.  347 

families  had  landed  at  Genoa,  not  venturing  to  travel 
through  France  in  its  present  unsettled  state.  There 
were,  however,  enough  left  to  make  a  pleasant  party, 
and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  and  evening  I  had 
much  agreeable  conversation  with  two  gentlemen,  one 
an  officer  and  one  a  civilian,  who  had  lived  many  years 
in  India.  There  were  also  two  ladies  on  board,  a 
mother  and  daughter,  who  had  been  travelling  all  over 
Europe,  alone  and  unattended.  Although  the  former, 
from  her  own  looks  and  those  of  her  daughter,  must 
have  been  within  speaking  distance  of  seventy,  yet  she 
was  as  full  of  activity,  energy,  and  interest  in  life,  as 
if  she  had  been  making  a  bridal  tour,  in  the  bloom  of 
youth.  Growing  old  seems  to  depend  much  upon  the 
temperament,  and  somewhat  upon  the  will.  With  an 
active  mind  and  a  warm  heart,  all  that  is  dark  and 
unlovely  in  age  may  be  kept  off  very  long  —  if  not  to 
the  end. 

We  left  Genoa  between  one  and  two.  The  steamer 
moved  rapidly  over  the  waveless  sea,  and  long  before 
sunset  the  coast  of  Italy  had  disappeared  from  view. 
I  did  not  part  from  it  in  that  sadness  of  spirit  with  which 
Mary  of  Scotland  fixed  her  farewell  gaze  upon  the  re- 
ceding shores  of  France  ;  but  when  the  line  of  land  had 
melted  into  air,  and  nothing  could  be  seen  but  the 
meeting  of  water  and  sky,  a  momentary  shadow  fell 
between  me  and  the  horizon.  Over  that  fair  region 
the  sight  had  now  no  more  dominion  :  it  was  given 
over  to  the  memory.  Who  can  look  upon  the  soil  of 
Italy  for  the  last  time  without  regret ! 

'  Farewell !  a  word  that  must  be  and  hath  been  — 
A  sound  which  makes  us  linger  j  yet,  farewell ! ' 


CHAPTER  XV. 


Travellers  in  Italy  and  Writers  upon  Italy  —  Pilgrimages—  Petrarch  —  Poggio 
Bracciolini  —  Luther  —  Montaigne  —  Shakespeare  —  Ascham  —  Milton  — 
Evelyn  —  Addison  —  Gray.* 


PILGRIMAGES. 

THE  earliest  travellers  in  Italy  were  pilgrims.  The 
stream  of  devotional  feeling,  after  the  approach  to 
Jerusalem  became  too  -difficult  or  too  dangerous,  was 
diverted  to  Rome,  the  second  city  in  the  Christian 
heart.  Men  of  this  class  did  not,  as  we  may  suppose, 
usually  travel  with  a  pen  in  the  hand.  The  industrious 
research  of  Mabillon  has,  however,  brought  to  light  the 
journal  of  one  of  these  religious  travellers,  a  resident  of 
Einsiedeln  in  Switzerland,  who  visited  Rome  in  the 
ninth  century.  His  journal,  published  by  Mabillon  in 
his  Analecta,  is  said  to  be  of  some  value  in  an  antiqua- 
rian point  of  view,  especially  upon  some  topographical 
details,  but  it  contains  no  record  of  personal  feeling, 

*  In  the  preparation  of  this  chapter  and  the  two  others 
which  follow  it,  I  have  been  occasionally  indebted  to  an  essay 
in  the  miscellaneous  writings  of  M.  Ampere,  entitled,  '  Por- 
traits de  Rome  a  differents  ages.' 


PILGRIMAGES.  349 

and  the  modest  writer  has  not  even  recorded  his  own 
name. 

A  great  impulse  was  given  to  these  pilgrimages  by 
the  proclamation  of  years  of  jubilee,  which  dates  from 
the  pontificate  of  Boniface  VIII.,  who  was  chosen  Pope 
in  1294.  Gibbon,  in  one  of  the  closing  chapters  of  his 
great  work,  has  described,  in  his  striking  and  condensed 
manner,  the  first  of  these  jubilees  or  holy  years,  in 
1300,  and  the  motives  which  induced  the  pontiff  to  take 
the  step.  His  bull,  dated  February  22,  1300,  granted 
plenary  indulgence  to  all  persons  who,  being  truly  re- 
pentant, and  having  confessed  their  sins,  should  visit 
once  a  day,  during  thirty  days,  the  churches  of  the 
apostles  Peter  and  Paul.  To  strangers,  the  number  of 
days  was  lessened  to  fifteen.  Hardly  was  the  ink  of 
the  papal  bull  dry,  when  its  call  was  answered  by  an 
innumerable  stream  of  pilgrims,  who  flocked  to  Rome 
from  all  parts  of  Italy,  Germany,  France,  and  England. 
Villani,  the  Florentine  historian,  who  was  one  of  this 
devout  company,  computes  that  during  the  whole  of  the 
year  there  was  no  time  in  which  there  were  not  at 
least  two  hundred  thousand  strangers  in  Rome.  A  far 
greater  Florentine  than  Villani,  Dante,  was  also  there, 
and  a  vivid  ray  from  his  genius  has  fallen  upon  one 
of  the  scenes  which  he  witnessed,  and  made  it  immor- 
tal. The  bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  in  order  to  accommo- 
date the  immense  multitudes  that  were  passing  to  and 
fro  upon  it,  had  been  divided  lengthwise  by  a  partition, 
so  that  all  who  were  going  in  the  same  direction  might 
keep  on  one  side.  The  poet  compares  the  mournful 
files  of  sinners  in  the  eighth  circle  of  the  Inferno  to  the 
crowds  which  he  had  seen  upon  this  bridge.  He  also 
dates  his  poem  from  the  year  of  the  jubilee. 


350  PILGRIMAGES. 

The  purpose  of  Boniface  VIII.  had  been  to  make  the 
return  of  the  jubilee  coincident  with  the  first  year  of 
each  century,  but  the  Roman  people,  who  had  reaped 
a  golden  harvest  from  the  presence  of  so  many  travel- 
lers, did  not  like  so  long  an  interval.  Clement  VI.  by 
a  bull  dated  at  Avignon,  January  27,  1343,  fixed  its 
recurrence  once  in  fifty  years.  This  period  was  after- 
wards shortened  by  Urban  VI.  to  thirty-three  years, 
being  those  of  the  Saviour's  life  ;  and  finally  by  Paul  II. 
to  twenty-five,  which  still  continues  the  prescribed 
interval. 

The  jubilee  of  1350  caused  a  general  movement 
throughout  Europe,  equal  to  that  of  1300.  It  occurred 
during  the  career  of  Rienzi,  and  in  the  interval  between 
his  first  success  and  his  last  and  short-lived  elevation. 
More  than  a  million  of  strangers  visited  Rome  during 
the  year,  although  a  rainy  spring,  succeeding  a  very 
cold  winter,  had  broken  up  the  roads  and  made  travel- 
ling difficult  and  dangerous.  The  people  of  Rome, 
unchecked  by  any  strong  hand  of  authority,  plundered 
the  poor  pilgrims,  without  conscience  or  mercy,  through 
the  exorbitant  prices  which  they  required  for  all  articles 
of  necessity  ;  and  when  the  cardinal-legate,  from  a 
wish  to  shorten  the  stay  of  the  strangers,  gave  them 
some  new  indulgences,  the  citizens  attacked  his  palace, 
killed  several  of  his  servants,  and  forced  him  to  leave  the 
city.  The  crowd  of  devout  worshippers  in  Rome  was  so 
great,  that  no  great  ceremonial  of  religion  took  place 
without  several  persons  being  crushed  to  death. 

Since  that  period  the  jubilee  has  taken  place  every 
twenty-five  years,  and  on  these  occasions  the  number 
of  strangers  in  Rome  is  unusually  large,  though  very 


PETRARCH.  351 

far  from  equalling  the  immense  throngs  of  the  middle 
ages.  The  great  concourse  of  foreigners  in  Rome 
during  these  years  has  led  to  the  foundation  of  those 
national  churches  and  hospitals  which  are  among  the 
peculiar  features  of  this  city.  Thus,  the  Spaniards 
built  the  church  and  hospital  of  St.  James;  the  French, 
those  of  St.  Louis  ;  the  Lombards,  of  St.  Ambrose  ;  the 
Portuguese,  of  St.  Antony  ;  and  there  are  many  others 
of  the  same  class  and  origin.  The  pilgrims  were  re- 
ceived and  entertained  for  three  days,  gratuitously,  at 
these  foundations,  and  they  were  sure  of  finding  aid 
and  protection  there  during  the  whole  period  of  their 
residence. 

PETRARCH POGGIO    BRACCIOLINI. 

Petrarch  was  the  earliest  among  the  writers  in  mod- 
ern literature,  to  look  at  Rome  with  that  feeling,  partly 
scholarlike  and  partly  imaginative,  which  has  since 
inspired  so  many  books.  In  his  day  the  papal  court 
was  at  Avignon,  and  Rome  was  in  the  lowest  stage  of 
desolation  and  disorder.  The  population  was  said  to 
have  sunk  to  the  number  of  seventeen  thousand,  though 
this  is  hardly  credible.  The  remains  of  antiquity,  and 
even  the  structures  of  more  recent  periods,  were  aban- 
doned to  neglect,  or  exposed  to  violence.  The  heart 
of  Petrarch  was  moved  as  a  patriot,  a  poet,  and  a 
scholar.  In  many  portions  of  his  writings,  and  his  let- 
ters, he  breathes  the  impassioned  sorrow  which  the 
condition  of  Rome  naturally  called  forth.  To  the  pope 
Urban  V.  he  writes  in  the  following  energetic  strain  : 
'  In  your  absence  there  is  neither  repose  nor  content ; 


352  PETRARCH. 

civil  and  foreign  wars  desolate  the  land  ;  houses  are 
sinking,  and  walls  falling  to  the  ground  ;  temples  and 
shrines  are  yielding  to  decay ;  laws  are  trampled  under 
foot,  and  justice  is  a  prey  to  violence  ;  the  unhappy 
people  sigh  and  groan,  and  with  loud  voice  call  upon 
your  name  ;  but  you  hear  them  not ;  you  are  not 
moved  with  their  multiplied  sorrows  ;  you  do  not  see 
the  pious  tears  of  your  desolate  spouse,  nor  do  you 

hasten  to  her  side  as  you  should 

But  with  what  heart,  O  good  Father,  pardon  me  this 
boldness,  can  you  slumber  softly  on"  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone,  under  the  gilded  roofs  of  your  chambers,  while 
the  Lateran  is  falling  to  ruin,  and  this  mother  of  all 
the  churches,  stripped  of  its  roof,  is  exposed  to  the 
winds  and  rains  —  while  the  sanctuaries  of  Peter  and 
Paul  are  tottering  to  their  fall,  and  that  which  was  once 
their  temple,  is  now  a  heap  of  ruins,  a  mass  of  shape- 
less stones,  such  as  would  wring  compassion  from  a 
heart  of  stone  ? '  In  another  place,  he  complains  of  the 
ignorance  of  the  people  of  Rome  of  their  own  history, 
and  says  that  Rome  is  nowhere  so  little  known  as  in 
Rome  itself.  But,  as  Bunsen  remarks,  his  own  know- 
ledge of  antiquity  was  any  thing  but  exact,  and  the 
reflections  which  its  remains  call  forth  are  the  splendid 
declamations  of  a  poetical  enthusiast,  who  would  not 
wish  to  be  disabused  of  a  pleasing  delusion.  Thus,  he 
calls  the  Pyramid  of  Cestius,  the  Monument  of  Remus 
—  at  that  time  the  traditionary  name  among  the  com- 
mon people  —  in  spite  of  the  inscription  so  visible  on 
its  walls.  From  his  fervid  imagination  and  strong 
feeling  for  antiquity,  Petrarch  became  a  warm  friend 
and  admirer  of  Rienzi,  that  meteor  which  shone  so 


POGGIO    BRACCIOLINI.  353 

brightly  and  so  briefly  ;  and  sad  as  was  the  fate,  and 
imperfect  as  was  the  character  of  the  Roman  tribune, 
there  was  enough  in  him  to  justify  the  enthusiasm 
which  he  inspired  in  a  man  so  ideal  and  so  sincere  as 
Petrarch. 

Gibbon,  in  the  last  chapter  of  his  history,  has 
quoted  some  eloquent  passages  on  the  ruins  of  Rome, 
from  a  Latin  essay,  '  De  fortunes  varietate,'  by  the 
celebrated  Poggio  Bracciolini.  He  was  one  of  the  in- 
tellectual lights  of  Italy  in  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth 
century  —  a  man  of  great  activity  of  mind  and  variety 
of  attainments  —  like  many  of  the  scholars  of  that  pe- 
riod, not  always  leading  a  reputable  life,  and  sometimes 
writing  lines  which,  whether  living  or  dying,  he  should 
have  wished  to  blot.  These  extracts  are  written  with 
true  feeling  and  much  energy  of  expression,  and  Bunsen 
remarks  in  his  learned  preface  to  the  '  Beschreibung  der 
Stadt  Rom,'  that  his  observation  was  accurate,  and  that 
we  owe  to  him  some  valuable  information  as  to  the 
state  of  Rome  in  his  time,  which  would  otherwise 
have  been  wholly  wanting. 

LUTHER. 

Petrarch  and  Poggio,  Italians,  scholars,  and  men  of 
genius,  felt  themselves  in  some  measure  at  home,  even 
in  Rome.  They  beheld  it  with  the  eye  of  taste  and 
learning  only,  and  have  recorded  none  of  the  impres- 
sions which  its  religious  aspect  may  have  made  upon 
them.  But  a  man  of  a  very  different  stamp  came  to 
Italy  in  the  early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Martin 
Luther  was  in  Rome  in  the  year  1510,  having  been 

VOL.  n.  23 


354  LTJTHEK. 

sent  there  by  his  superiors,  on  some  business  connected 
with  his  convent.  He  was  at  that  time  twenty-seven 
years  old,  and  in  the  midst  of  that  struggle  and  unrest 
through  which  all  persons  pass  who  are  destined  to  ex- 
ercise great  influence  over  the  spiritual  nature  of  man. 
He  was  beginning  to  study  the  mystery  of  his  own 
being,  and  he  found  it  a  riddle  hard  to  solve.  He  was 
perplexed  with  doubts,  at  war  with  himself,  and  recoil- 
ing from  the  natural  impulses  of  his  own  impassioned 
temperament,  as  the  snares  and  seductions  of  the  enemy 
of  mankind.  He  entered  Rome,.not  in  the  mood  of  the 
scholar  or  the  poet  —  not  to  study  inscriptions  or  muse 
over  the  ruins  of  fallen  grandeur  —  but  with  the  burn- 
ing zeal  of  a  devout  pilgrim,  who  hoped  to  find  there  a 
fountain  which  would  slake  the  deep  thirst  of  his  soul. 
There  his  troubled  spirit  he  trusted  would  attain  that 
peace  of  God  which  passes  all  understanding.  But 
what  a  disappointment  awaited  this  fervid  enthusiast ! 
He  found  a  warlike  pontiff,  Julius  II.,  full  of  dreams  of 
ambition  and  plans  of  conquest ;  cardinals,  worldly 
and  politic  ;  a  clergy,  ignorant  and  profligate.  He  was 
shocked  at  the  indecent  haste  with  which  mass  was 
said.  He  was  filled  with  horror  at  hearing  many 
ecclesiastics  openly  avow  their  unbelief.  He  remained 
but  a  fortnight  in  Rome,  but,  during  that  time,  so  strong 
and  deep  was  his  indignation  and  disgust,  that  he  hardly 
ever  could  speak  or  write  upon  the  subject,  without 
using  language  which  modern  decorum  hesitates  to 
quote.  *He  used  afterwards  to  say,  that  he  would  not 
for  a  hundred  thousand  florins  have  failed  to  visit 
Rome  ;  for,  in  that  event,  he  should  have  been  dis- 
turbed by  the  apprehension  that  he  had  been  unjust  to 
the  Pope  in  his  subsequent  controversial  writings. 


MONTAIGNE.  355 


MONTAIGNE. 

Thirty-four  years  after  the  death  of  Luther,  Mon- 
taigne made  a  journey  into  Italy,  of  which  he  lias  left 
a  characteristic  sketch.  He  left  home  in  June,  1580, 
and  returned  in  November,  1581.  His  object  was  the 
improvement  of  his  health,  especially  a  wish  to  use  the 
mineral  waters  of  Tuscany  ;  and  thus  a  considerable 
portion  of  his  diary  is  occupied  with  minute  records  of 
the  state  of  his  health,  and  detailed  accounts  of  the 
effects  of  the  various  waters  which  he  tried,  especially 
of  the  baths  of  Lucca,  where  he  spent  a  considerable 
time.* 

The  journal  has  the  characteristics  of  thought  and 
style  which  have  given  such  wide  and  permanent  pop- 
ularity to  his  Essays ;  the  same  good  sense,  the  same 
penetrating  observation,  the  same  easy  bonhommie, 
the  same  liberal  and  enlightened  way  of  thinking,  and 

*  The  disease  for  which  Montaigne  sought  relief  was  an 
hereditary  calculus.  In  judging  of  the  medical  details  of  his 
journal,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  it  was  not  intended  for  the 
press,  but  kept  for  his  own  amusement.  A  part  of  the  manu- 
script, about  one  third,  is  in  the  handwriting  of  a  domestic, 
who  acted  as  secretary,  who  speaks  of  his  master  in  the  third 
person,  though  he  unquestionably  wrote  from  his  dictation. 
The  journal  was  discovered  about  the  year  1772,  in  an  old 
chest  in  the  chateau  of  Montaigne,  at  that  time  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  descendant  in  the  sixth  generation  from  his  daughter 
and  only  child.  It  was  first  published  in  1774.  Brunei  says 
that  the  work  is  of  no  interest,  and  has  met  with  no  success. 
Other  critics  have  judged  it  more  favorably.  Mrs.  Shelley 
pronounces  it  '  singularly  interesting.'  At  any  rate,  the  name 
and  reputation  of  Montaigne  give  interest  to  his  works. 


356  MONTAIGNE. 

the  same  careless  and  rambling  method.  His  course  of 
travel  was  very  irregular  and  zigzag,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  been  absolutely  without  any  plan  of  move- 
ment ;  a  course  of  proceeding  which  appears  to  have 
annoyed  some  of  his  companions.  He  is  attracted  to 
all  natural  phenomena,  and  records  peculiarities  of 
manner  and  costume,  but  feels  very  little  of  that  kind 
of  enthusiasm  which  seems  indigenous  to  the  soil  of 
Italy,  and  is  so  insensible  to  art  as  not  even  to  men- 
tion the  names  of  Michael  Angelo  or  Raphael.  His 
honest  and  homely  nature  recoils  from  any  thing  like 
sentiment  or  fine  writing.  Of  the  approach  to  Rome 
and  the  Campagna,  he  speaks  in  a  brief  and  business- 
like way. 

'  Rome  did  not  seem  to  make  much  of  an  appearance  as 
we  approached  it  from  this  road.  Far  away  on  the  left  lay 
the  Apennines  ;  the  aspect  of  the  foreground  was  exceed- 
ingly unpleasant  to  the  eye  ;  hilly,  with  every  here  and  there 
deep  marshes,  altogether  unfit  for  military  operations  or 
marches ;  the  country  all  around  us  for  ten  miles  in  every 
direction,  was  open,  barren,  and  destitute  of  trees,  and  almost 
equally  so  of  houses/ 

His  reflections  upon  the  altered  condition  of  Rome, 
as  recorded  by  his  secretary,  are  vigorous  and  striking. 
He  observed, 

'  That  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  of  ancient  Rome  but  the 
sky  under  which  it  had  risen  and  stood,  and  the  outline  of  its 
form ;  that  the  knowledge  he  had  of  it  was  altogether  ab- 
stract and  contemplative,  no  image  of  it  remaining  to  satisfy 
the  senses ;  that  those  who  said  that  the  ruins  of  Rome  at 
least  remained,  said  more  than  they  were  warranted  in  say- 
ing ;  for  the  ruins  of  so  stupendous  and  awful  a  fabric  would 


MONTAIGNE.  357 

enforce  more  honor  and  reverence  for  its  memory  ;  nothing, 
he  said,  remained  of  Rome  but  its  sepulchre.  The  world,  in 
hatred  of  its  long  domination,  had  first  destroyed  and  broken 
in  pieces  the  various  parts  of  this  wondrous  body  ;  and  then, 
finding  that,  even  though  prostrate  and  dead,  its  disfigured 
remains  still  filled  them  with  fear  and  hate,  they  buried  the 
ruins  itself;  that  the  few  indications  of  what  it  had  been, 
which  still  tottered  above  its  grave,  fortune  had  permitted  to 
remain  there,  as  some  evidence  of  the  infinite  greatness  which 
so  many  ages,  so  many  intestine  and  parricidal  blows,  and 
the  never-ending  conspiracy  of  the  world  against  it,  had  not 
been  able  entirely  to  extinguish  ;  but  that,  in  all  probability, 
even  the  disfigured  members  that  did  remain,  were  the  least 
worthy  of  all  those  that  had  existed,  the  malignant  fury  of 
the  enemies  of  that  immortal  glory  having  impelled  them  to 
destroy,  in  the  first  instance,  that  which  was  finest  and  most 
worthy  of  preservation  in  the  imperial  city.' 

In  another  place,  he  speaks  of  a  peculiarity  of  Rome 
which  has  been  felt  at  all  times  by  observant  travellers. 
'  One  of  the  great  advantages  of  Rome  is,  that  it  is  one 
of  the  least  exclusive  cities  in  the  world ;  a  place  where 
foreigners  at  once  feel  themselves  the  most  at  home  ; 
in  fact,  Rome  is,  by  its  very  nature,  the  city  of  stran- 
gers.' He  also  records  of  the  same  city,  '  The  longer 
I  staid  in  this  city,  the  more  did  I  become  charmed 
with  it ;  I  never  breathed  air  more  temperate,  nor 
better  suited  to  my  constitution.' 

He  was  well  received  by  the  Pope,  Gregory  XIII., 
and  had  the  honor  of  the  citizenship  of  Rome  conferred 
upon  him,  which  gave  him  a  degree  of  pleasure  which 
seems  singular  in  one  of  so  sceptical  and  philosophical 
a  temperament.  Indeed,  he  never  fails  to  record  the 
little  honors  and  attentions  which  were  paid  to  him, 


358  MONTAIGNE. 

more  as  a  gentleman  of  easy  fortune  than  an  author, 
with  a  self-complacency  which  shews  a  fair  amount  of 
self-esteem. 

Of  the  Carnival,  he  speaks  slightingly.  In  his  time 
they  had  races  in  the  Corso,  '  sometimes  between  four 
or  five  children,  sometimes  between  Jews,  sometimes 
between  old  men  stripped  naked.' 

At  Florence,  he  saw  the  Grand  Duke  Cosmo  II.  and 
his  wife,  the  celebrated  Bianca  Capello,  of  whose  luxu- 
riant beauty,  and  liberal  display  of  it,  he  speaks.  He 
was  charmed,  as  well  he  might  be,  with  the  lovely  situ- 
ation of  Lucca.  Speaking  of  the  waters  at  the  baths, 
he  says,  '  They  are  much  praised  for  removing  erup- 
tions and  blotches  on  the  skin,  which  I  note  as  a 
useful  memorandum  for  an  amiable  lady,  a  friend  of 
mine,  in  France.' 

At  Pisa,  he  records  the  astounding  fact,  that  the 
leaning  tower  deviates  from  the  perpendicular  not  less 
than  forty-two  feet !  a  curious  instance  of  carelessness. 
Of  Venice,  he  says,  '  The  curiosities  of  this  place  are 
so  well  known  that  I  need  say  nothing  about  them.' .  .  . 
'  The  system  of  government,  the  situation  of  the  place, 
the  arsenal,  the  square  of  St.  Mark,  and  the  concourse 
of  foreigners,  seemed  to  him  the  most  remarkable  fea- 
tures.' The  diary  is  often  amusing  from  the  abruptness 
with  which  he  passes  from  one  subject  to  another. 
Thus,  being  in  Florence,  he,  or  rather  his  secretary, 
writes  as  follows  :  '  We  went  to  see  the  cathedral,  a 
magnificent  structure,  the  steeple  of  which  is  faced 
with  black  and  white  marble  ;  it  is  one  of  the  finest 
and  most  sumptuous  churches  in  the  world.  M.  de 
Montaigne  said  he  had  never  been  in  a  country  where 
there  were  so  few  pretty  women  as  in  Italy.' 


SHAKESPEARE.  359 

While  at  the  baths  at  Lucca,  he  says,  '  After  dinner 
to-day,  I  gave  a  dance  to  the  country-girls,  and  danced 
with  them  myself,  in  order  not  to  appear  airish.' 

SHAKESPEARE. 

The  question  whether  Shakespeare  ever  visited  Italy 
is  one  of  those  literary  curiosities  which  has  been  some- 
what discussed  of  late  years.  Mr.  Charles  Armitage 
Brown,  in  an  ingenious  essay  on  the  autobiographical 
poems  of  the  great  poet,  published  in  1838,  maintains 
the  affirmative  of  the  proposition  with  much  zeal ;  and 
the  probability  of  it  is  admitted  in  some  of  the  notes  to 
the  Italian  plays  in  Knight's  pictorial  edition.  Mr. 
Brown  comes  to  this  conclusion,  partly  because  it  was 
the  general  custom  at  that  time  for  cultivated  English- 
men, whose  fortunes  would  allow  of  it,  to  travel  in  Italy, 
and  because  Shakespeare's  means  were  sufficient  for 
such  an  indulgence,  and  partly  from  the  superior  know- 
ledge of  Italian  customs  and  localities  shewn  in  the 
later  Italian  plays,  such  as  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew 
and  The  Merchant  of  Venice,  as  compared  with  The 
Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.  It  is  certainly  true  that 
Shakespeare,  in  his  Italian  plays,  shews  an  extensive 
and  minute  acquaintance  with  Italian  life,  manners, 
localities,  occupations,  and  amusements.  Lady  Mor- 
gan remarks,  that  there  is  not  a  single  article  of  furni- 
ture which  Gremio  describes  as  being  in  his  house 
in  Padua,  which  she  has  not  herself  seen  in  some  one 
or  other  of  the  palaces  of  Florence,  Venice,  or  Genoa  ; 
and  Mr.  Brown  confirms  the  truth  of  this  statement 
from  his  own  observation.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it 


360  SHAKESPEARE. 

may  be  urged  that  a  journey  into  Italy  in  those  days 
was  a  great  undertaking,  requiring  time  and  prepara- 
tion as  well  as  liberal  outlay  ;  and  that  with  the  minute 
and  microscopic  examination  to  which  the  life  of 
Shakespeare  has  been  exposed  in  our  times,  which  has 
brought  so  many  curious  facts  to  light,  it  is  hardly  pos- 
sible that  some  scrap  or  fragment  should  not  have 
turned  up  which  would  set  such  an  expedition  beyond 
question,  supposing  it  to  have  been  made.  And  in  the 
next  place,  his  knowledge  of  Italy  may  be  explained 
without  a  visit  to  the  country.  The  old  notion  of 
Shakespeare's  having  been  a  wild,  irregular  genius, 
with  no  help  from  books  and  study,  is  long  since  ex- 
ploded by  modern  research  and  modern  criticism. 
There  is  little  doubt  that  he  understood  the  Italian 
language,  and  we  may  be  sure  that  in  the  preparation 
of  his  Italian  plays,  he  read  every  book  illustrative  of 
the  subject,  on  which  he  could  lay  his  hands.  His 
intuitive  perception  of  historical  truth,  the  astonishing 
sagacity  with  which  he  seizes  upon  every  trait  which  is 
distinguishing  and  characteristic,  and  the  vitality  which 
his  genius  breathes  into  his  knowledge,  are  as  remark- 
able in  his  Greek  and  Roman  plays,  as  in  those  in 
which  the  scene  is  laid  in  modern  Italy.  On  the  whole, 
Shakespeare's  visit  to  Italy  stands  much  upon  the  same 
footing  in  point  of  evidence,  as  that  of  the  Northmen  to 
New  England  before  Columbus.  It  is  certainly  possi- 
ble, perhaps  probable  ;  but  it  remains  to  be  proved. 
It  is  pleasant  to  think  of  Shakespeare's  swimming  in  a 
gondola,  and  to  believe  that  the  beautiful  pictures  in 
The  Merchant  of  Venice  and  Othello  were  recollec- 
tions, and  not  imaginations ;  that  Belmont  was  a  pa- 


ASCHAM.  361 

lazzo  whose  blazing  windows  he  himself  had  seen,  and 
that  when  he  wrote  Lorenzo's  lovely  description  of  a 
summer's  night,  his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  brighter 
moons  and  larger  stars  of  an  Italian  heaven,  and  to  the 
myrtle  walls  and  flowery  banks  of  an  Italian  garden. 

ASCHAM. 

The  learned  Roger  Ascham,  who  went  to  Germany 
about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  as  secretary 
to  Sir  Richard  Morysine,  the  English  ambassador, 
made  a  flying  visit  of  only  nine  days  into  Italy.  Most 
of  this  short  period  appears  to  have  been  spent  in  Ven- 
ice. In  his  'Schoolmaster,'  written  some  years  later, 
he  alludes  to  this  passage  in  his  life,  and  makes  it  the 
text  and  starting-point  for  a  furious  tirade  upon  the 
vices  of  Italy  and  the  corrupting  influence  which  that 
country  had  exerted  upon  the  morals,  manners,  and 
literature  of  England.  Indeed,  he  speaks  of  the  sin 
which  he  himself  saw,  in  that  brief  space  of  time,  as 
being  so  great,  that  one  cannot  but  suspect  that  he 
must  have  gone  out  of  his  way,  and  taken  some  pains 
to  find  it.  His  observations  have  no  other  value  than 
such  as  is  derived  from  one  or  two  facts  which  he  does 
not  so  much  state  as  assume.  One  of  these  is,  that  it 
was  at  that  time  the  fashion  for  young  Englishmen,  of 
birth  and  fortune,  to  complete  their  education  by  a  tour 
in  Italy  ;  and  another  is,  that  many  '  fond'  (that  is,  fool- 
ish) books  had  recently  been  translated  out  of  Italian 
into  English,  over  which  the  good  Roger  groans  in 
spirit.  '  Ten  sermons  at  Paul's  Cross  do  not  so  much 
good  for  moving  men  to  true  doctrine,  as  one  of  these 


362  MILTON. 

books  do  harm  with  enticing  men  to  ill  living.  Yea,  I 
say  further,  those  books  tend  not  so  much  to  corrupt 
honest  living  as  they  do  to  subvert  true  religion. 
More  Papists  be  made  by  your  merry  books  of  Italy, 
than  by  your  earnest  books  of  Louvain.'  As  to  good 
morals,  there  may  be  some  foundation  for  these  charges 
against  the  '  merry  books  of  Italy,'  but  when  we  re- 
member the  scandalous  stories  of  monks  and  nuns 
which  they  contain,  and  the  bold  hand  with  which 
they  satirize  the  vices  of  the  clergy,  we  may  well 
doubt  whether  Ascham's  protestant  zeal  did  not  outrun 
his  reflection  when  he  supposed  them  to  be  dangerous 
to  doctrine. 

Another  argument  which  he  uses  against  visiting 
Italy  sounds  rather  odd  from  English  lips.  He  com- 
plains of  the  freedom  of  thought  and  speech  which 
prevails  in  the  cities  of  Italy,  both  in  religion  and 
politics,  and  that  young  men,  who  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  this  liberty,  come  home  less  inclined  to  be 
good  subjects  and  good  Protestants. 

MILTON. 

In  1638,  Milton  went  to  Italy.  He  was  at  that  time 
thirty  years  old,  and  had  been  living  for  some  years  in 
studious  retirement ;  probably  the  happiest  period  of 
his  life,  undisturbed  by  domestic  troubles  or  political 
controversy,  and  dedicated  to  the  highest  intellectual 
labors  and  delights.  He  had  in  this  interval  published 
'Comus,'  '  L' Allegro,'  and  'II  Penseroso;'  but,  strange 
to  say,  they  had  attracted  comparatively  little  notice, 
and  he  was  as  yet  not  much  known  beyond  the  circle 


MILTON.  363 

«. 

of  his  own  university.  No  traveller  ever  visited  Italy 
more  thoroughly  prepared  to  profit  by  the  advantages 
which  that  country  afforded.  He  wrote  and  spoke 
both  the  Latin  and  Italian  languages  with  idiomatic 
ease  and  elegance,  and  was  perfectly  familiar  with  the 
history  and  literature  of  both  Rome  and  Italy.  His 
person  was  beautiful,  his  manners  graceful,  and  he 
was  skilled  in  all  the  manly  exercises  of  his  time  ;  he 
had  also  inherited  from  his  father  a  natural  taste  for 
music,  in  which  art  Italy  was  then  in  advance  of  the 
rest  of  Europe.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  this 
handsome  young  Englishman,  so  full  of  learning, 
genius,  and  accomplishments,  speaking  and  writing 
their  own  language  so  perfectly,  should  have  been 
received  by  the  susceptible  Italians  with  an  enthusiasm 
such  as  he  never  inspired  in  his  own  country  at  any 
period  of  his  life. 

He  passed  into  Italy  by  way  of  Paris,  Nice,  and 
Genoa.  He  remained  two  months  in  Florence,  min- 
gling in  the  learned  society  of  that  place,  and  receiving 
many  marks  of  distinction  from  its  scholars.  While 
here  he  visited  Galileo,  who  was  then  living  at  Arcetri, 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Florence,  under  the  eye 
of  the  Inquisition,  though  not  actually  a  prisoner. 

From  Florence  he  passed  to  Sienna  and  thence  to 
Rome,  where  he  resided  also  two  months,  much  ca- 
ressed by  the  most  distinguished  society  there.  He 
then  continued  his  journey  to  Naples,  where  he  became 
acquainted  with  Manso,  Marquis  of  Villa,  a  soldier  and 
scholar,  well  known  as  the  friend,  patron,  and  biogra- 
pher of  Tasso,  and  who  has  secured  a  place  in  English 
literature  by  the  beautiful  epistle  in  Latin  verse  — 


364  MILTON. 

the  most  Virgilian  of  all  compositions  not  written  by 
Virgil  —  which  Milton  addressed  to  him.  From  Na- 
ples he  purposed  passing  over  to  Sicily  and  Greece ; 
but,  on  hearing  of  the  commencement  of  the  troubles 
between  the  king  and  the  parliament  of  England,  he 
set  his  face  homeward.  He  returned  to  Rome,  where 
he  spent  two  more  months ;  visited  Florence  and  Lucca ; 
and  crossing  the  Apennines,  went  by  the  way  of 
Bologna  and  Ferrara  to  Venice,  where  he  remained 
a  month.  From  Venice  he  took  his  course  through 
Verona,  Milan,  and  along  Lake  Leman,  to  Geneva; 
and  then  home,  through  France ;  having  been  absent 
about  fifteen  months. 

It  is  rather  curious  that  Milton  should  not  have  re- 
corded any  of  the  impressions  which  such  a  country  as 
Italy  must  have  made  upon  him.  It  does  not  even 
appear  that  he  kept  a  diary.  With  what  interest  should 
we  learn  that  such  a  manuscript  had  been  discovered, 
and  how  precious  a  memorial  it  would  be  of  that  bright 
period  of  his  life !  And  it  is  also  quite  remarkable  how 
little  there  is  in  his  subsequent  writings  which  seems  to 
have  sprung  directly  from  his  Italian  tour,  and  to  have 
been  distinctly  drawn  from  the  images  and  impressions 
then  gathered  up.  Critics  are  at  great  pains  to  trace 
this  or  that  picture  or  expression  in  the  Paradise  Lost 
to  some  painting,  statue,  or  scene  in  Italy ;  but  the  faint- 
ness  of  the  resemblance  fails  to  bring  conviction  to  the 
mind.  With  the  exception  of  the  well-known  allusions 
in  the  first  book  of  the  Paradise  Lost  to  the  woods  of 
Vallombrosa,  and  to  the  astronomer  in  Fiesole  or  Val- 
darno,  there  is  hardly  a  line  which  would  prove  incon- 
testably  that  the  poet's  foot  had  ever  been  upon  the  soil 


EVELYN.  365 

of  Italy.  And  yet  no  one  can  doubt  that  the  art,  the 
scenery,  and  the  antiquities  of  that  country  must  have 
sunk  deep  into  his  mind,  and  filled  it  with  images  which 
rose  up  in  his  hours  of  solitude  and  Blindness  with 
soothing  and  refreshing  influence.  He  doubtless  saw 
much  there  which  offended  his  puritan  zeal,  always  an 
active  principle  in  his  nature,  however  mellowed  by 
classical  studies.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  Milton,  at 
any  period  of  his  life,  in  a  Romish  church,  without  a 
frown  upon  his  brow.  He  has  expressly  recorded  that 
he  gave  offence,  and  incurred  some  danger,  by  the 
freedom  with  which  he  spoke  upon  religious  subjects, 
and  in  his  grotesque  description  of  the  paradise  of  fools 
in  the  third  book  of  the  Paradise  Lost,  there  are  some 
touches  of  sarcasm  doubtless  supplied  by  the  ceremo- 
nials of  the  church  which  he  had  witnessed  at  Rome. 
The  same  recollections  also  gave  earnestness  and  point 
to  the  vigorous  invective  with  which,  in  his  prose  writ- 
ings, he  so  often  assails  the  abuses  of  prelacy  and  the 
corruptions  of  the  church. 

EVELYN. 

Within  three  or  four  years  after  Milton's  return  to 
England,  the  pure-minded  and  accomplished  John 
Evelyn,  that  model  of  an  English  gentleman,  visited 
Italy,  and  indeed  resided  there  nearly  three  years.  He 
left  England  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  and  it  curiously 
illustrates  the  difference  between  his  temperament  and 
that  of  Milton,  that  the  troubles  between  the  king  and 
the  parliament  which  called  the  one  home  sent  the 
other  abroad.  Evelyn  has  left  a  diary  of  his  journey 


366  EVELYN. 

and  residence,  which  has  no  marked  literary  merit 
but  gives  evidence  of  a  thoughtful  and  observant  spirit, 
and  of  a  pure  and  elevated  character.  It  is  a  very 
gentlemanly  record,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word, 
and  we  feel  sure  that  a  young  man  with  such  senti- 
ments and  dispositions  would  never  lead  any  but  a 
virtuous  and  honorable  life.  He  arrives  at  Rome  in 
November,  1644,  and  finds  lodgings  in  the  Piazza 
Spagnola,  as  he  calls  it,  and  began  to  be  '  very  prag- 
matical,' to  use  his  own  expression ;  that  is,  very  busy 
in  sight-seeing.  He  is  attracted  to  much  the  same 
places  and  objects  as  a  stranger  is  now-a-days.  Fie 
speaks  with  enthusiasm  of  the  grounds  and  collections 
of  the  Villa  Borghese,  mentioning  the  group  of  Apollo 
and  Daphne,  by  Bernini,  who  was  then  living,  in  the 
prime  of  his  powers  and  at  the  height  of  his  reputation. 
Evelyn  mentions  him  again,  in  his  account  of  St. 
Peter's,  and  says  that  a  short  time  before  his  arrival  at 
Rome,  the  artist  gave  a  public  opera,  '  wherein  he 
painted  the  scenes,  cut  the  statues,  invented  the  en- 
gines, composed  the  music,  writ  the  comedy,  and  built 
the  theatre.'  Evelyn  visited  the  Villa  Ludovisi,  where 
the  statue  of  the  Dying  Gladiator  then  was  ;  and  also 
the  Villa  Medici,  in  which  at  that  time  were  the  Venus 
de  Medici,  the  Wrestlers,  the  Knife-Whetter,  and  the 
Apollino,  all  of  which  have  long  been  in  Florence. 

At  Naples,  he  goes  to  the  summit  of  Vesuvius,  and 
makes  excursions  to  Pozzuoli  and  Baise.  He  returns 
to  Rome  by  land,  not  venturing  to  sea  for  fear  of 
Turkish  pirates.*  He  speaks  of  himself  as  going 

*  It  is  only  within  a  comparatively  recent  period  that  the 


EVELYN.  367 

down  to  the  Piazza  Navona  to  buy  medals,  pictures, 
and  such  commodities,  '  and  also  to  hear  the  mounte- 
banks prate  and  distribute  their  medicines.' 

At  Frascati  he  is  greatly  struck  with  the  Villa  Aldo- 
brandini,  and  the  description  he  gives  of  it  may  be 
entertaining  to  my  readers. 

'  Just  behind  the  palace,  in  the  centre  of  the  inclosure, 
rises  a  high  hill  or  mountain  all  over-clad  with  tall  wood,  and 
so  formed  by  nature  as  if  it  had  been  cut  out  by  art,  from  the 
summit  whereof  falls  a  cascade,  seeming  rather  a  great  river 
than  a  stream  precipitating  into  a  large  theatre  of  water,  rep- 
resenting an  exact  and  perfect  rainbow  when  the  sun  shines 
out.  Under  this  is  made  an  artificial  grot,  wherein  are  cu- 
rious rocks,  hydraulic  organs,  and  all  sorts  of  singing  birds, 
moving  and  chirping  by  force  of  the  water,  with  several  other 
pageants  and  surprising  inventions.  In  the  centre  of  one  of 
these  rooms  rises  a  copper  ball,  that  continually  dances 
about  three  foot  above  the  pavement,  by  virtue  of  a  wind  con- 
veyed secretly  to  a  hole  beneath  it ;  with  many  other  devices 
to  wet  the  unwary  spectators,  so  that  one  can  hardly  step 
without  wetting  to  the  skin.  In  one  of  these  theatres  of 
water,  is  an  Atlas  spouting  up  the  stream  to  a  very  great 
height ;  and  another  monster  makes  a  terrible  roaring  with  a 
horn ;  but,  above  all,  the  representation  of  a  storm  is  most 
natural,  with  such  fury  of  rain,  wind,  and  thunder,  as  one 
would  imagine  one's  self  in  some  extreme  tempest.' 

After  leaving  Rome  he  passed  several  months  at 
Venice.  He  was  there  on  Ascension  Day,  in  June, 
1645,  and  witnessed  the  splendid  ceremonial  of  the 

coasts  of  Italy  have  been  safe  from  the  attacks  of  Barbary  cor- 
sairs. Madame  Frederica  Brun,  who  was  at  Nettuno  in  1809, 
states  that  a  short  time  before,  a  boat's  crew  had  landed  there 
and  carried  off  a  young  lad,  the  brother  of  her  hostess. 


368  AUDISON. 

espousal  of  the  Adriatic,  by  the  Doge,  '  in  their  glo- 
riously painted,  carved,  and  gilded  Bucentora,  envi- 
roned and  followed  by  innumerable  galleys,  gondolas, 
and  boats,  filled  with  spectators,  some  dressed  in  mas- 
querade, trumpets,  music,  and  cannons.'  He  visits, 
and  describes  at  considerable  length,  the  ducal  palace, 
the  church  of  St.  Mark's,  the  Campanile,  and  some  of 
the  churches  and  palaces.  The  arsenal  seems  to  have 
much  impressed  him.  He  saw  a  cannon  weighing 
upwards  of  sixteen  thousand  pounds,  which  was  cast 
while  Henry  III.  was  at  dinner,  and  put  into  a  galley, 
which  was  built,  rigged,  and  fitted  for  launching  within 
that  period.  There  were  twenty-seven  galleys  at  that 
time  laid  up  there,  and,  as  he  states,  arms  for  eight 
hundred  thousand  men !  probably  one  cipher  too 
many. 

In  his  account  of  the  Carnival  at  Venice,  which  he 
witnessed,  he  says,  '  They  have  also  a  barbarous  cus- 
tom of  hunting  bulls  about  the  streets  and  piazzas,'  of 
which  he  remarks  with  great  gravity,  that  it  is  '  very 
dangerous,  the  passages  being  generally  narrow.' 

ADDISON. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1700,  Addison  went  to  Italy 
and  spent  the  principal  part  of  the  next  year  in  travel- 
ling there,  and  on  his  return  to  England,  published  an 
account  of  his  tour.  He  was  twenty-eight  years  old 
when  he  began  his  travels  ;  had  lived  nearly  all  his  life 
in  the  studious  calm  of  the  University  of  Oxford  ;  had 
attracted  the  notice  of  Lord  Somers  and  the  Earl  of 
Halifax  by  his  literary  abilities,  and  through  their  influ- 


ADDISON.  369 

ence  had  obtained  a  pension  of  three  hundred  pounds  a 
year,  that  he  might  complete  his  education  by  foreign 
travel.  His  account  of  his  tour  is  scholarlike,  but 
rather  tame  and  colorless.  Sometimes  we  meet  with  a 
graceful  turn  of  expression,  and  a  delicate  touch  of 
humor,  such  as  we  might  expect  from  his  later  writ- 
ings ;  but  in  general  the  style  is  languid  and  without 
character.  There  is  no  youthful  glow  or  spirit  about  it, 
but  he  writes  like  a  man  whose  blood  had  been  chilled 
by  hard  study,  and  thinned  by  spare  diet.  The  range 
of  his  reading  is  not  at  all  extensive  —  being  mostly 
confined  to  the  Latin  poets —  but  within  that  range  was 
thorough  and  exact,  as  his  numerous  quotations  shew. 
The  most  characteristic  part  of  the  tour  is  the  descrip- 
tion he  gives  of  the  little  republic  of  San  Marino,  in 
which  his  peculiar  vein  of  humor  is  called  forth. 
'  This,'  he  remarks,  in  speaking  of  some  events  which 
took  place  some  centuries  before,  '  they  represent  as 
the  most  flourishing  time  of  the  commonwealth,  when 
their  dominions  reached  half  way  up  a  neighboring  hill, 
but  at  present  they  are  reduced  to  their  old  extent.' 
His  account  of  Naples  and  its  vicinity  is  entertaining, 
especially  his  sketch  of  the  island  of  Capri,  which  he 
seems  to  have  explored  pretty  carefully.  In  Rome,  he 
describes  statues,  antiquities,  and  especially  medals ; 
and  pours  forth  a  profusion  of  quotations  from  the  Latin 
poets  in  illustration  of  them,  but  says  very  little  about 
pictures.  He  shews  some  sensibility  to  natural  sceneiy, 
especially  in  what  he  says  of  Tivoli,  and  he  cannot 
help  admiring  the  Gothic  beauties  of  the  cathedral  at 
Sienna,  though  he  half  apologizes  for  his  taste,  as  if  it 
were  something  to  be  ashamed  of.  He  often  falls  into 
VOL.  n.  24 


370  ADDISON. 

a  strain  of  general  reflection,  which  is  sensible  but  not 
striking  ;  talking  like  an  Englishman  and  a  whig  about 
the  blessings  of  liberty,  and  how  the  natural  advantages 
of  a  fine  country  are  counteracted  by  despotic  govern- 
ments. What  we  most  miss  is  life,  spirit,  and  the 
flavor  of  personal  interest.  We  want  him  to  take  off 
his  learned  spectacles  and  tell  us  what  he  saw  with  his 
own  living  eyes  —  how  the  people  lived,  what  they 
were  doing,  and  what  happened  to  him.  We  ask  for 
adventures,  and  he  gives  us  quotations  ;  we  ask  for 
observation,  and  he  gives  us  learning. 

During  his  absence  he  addressed  to  his  patron,  Lord 
Halifax,  his  poetical  '  Letter  from  Italy,'  the  most 
spirited  and  popular  of  all  his  poems.  It  is  a  sort  of 
abstract  or  summary  of  his  travels,  and  in  pleasing  and 
flowing  lines  delineates  the  natural  beauties  of  Italy, 
and  the  fine  productions  of  art  which  there  delight  the 
eye  and  charm  the  taste,  but  with  a  glow  of  national 
pride  points  to  the  boon  of  liberty  enjoyed  by  England 
as  worth  far  more  than  all.  Towards  the  close  where 
he  has  occasion  to  speak  of  King  William,  he  says, 

'  Fired  with  the  name  which  I  so  oft  have  found, 
The  distant  climes  and  different  tongues  resound, 
I  bridle  in  my  struggling  Muse  with  pain 
That  longs  lo  launch  into  a  bolder  strain.' 

The  poet  much  mistook  the  character  of  his  muse, 
which  was  anything  but  'struggling'  or  'bridled  in 
with  pain.'  On  the  contrary,  it  was  a  well-broken, 
sure-footed,  ambling  pad,  which  a  child  might  have 
governed  with  a  silken  thread. 


GRAY.  371 

GRAY. 

In  the  year  1739,  the  poet  Gray  set  out  on  a  tour 
to  Italy,  travelling  in  company  with  Horace  Walpole. 
He  remained  abroad  till  1741,  and  in  the  interval 
passed  more  than  a  year,  at  two  different  periods,  in 
Florence.  His  letters,  addressed  to  his  father,  his 
mother,  and  his  friend  West,  contain  lively  and  ani- 
mated sketches  of  what  he  saw,  written  in  easy  and 
graceful  prose,  quite  unlike  the  rich  elaboration  of  his 
poetry.  His  first  impression  of  Rome  seems  rather 
overwrought,  and  probably  in  the  flutter  of  spirits  into 
which  a  person  of  so  much  genius  and  so  much  learn- 
ing must  have  been  thrown  on  such  an  occasion,  he 
drew  more  from  what  he  felt  than  from  what  he  actu- 
ally saw. 

'  The  first  entrance  of  Rome  is  prodigiously  striking.  It 
is  by  a  noble  gate,  designed  by  Michael  Angelo,  and  adorned 
with  statues ;  this  brings  you  into  a  large  square,  in  the 
midst  of  which  is  a  large  obelisk  of  granite,  and  in  the  front 
you  have  at  one  view  two  churches  of  a  handsome  architec- 
ture, and  so  much  alike  that  they  are  called  the  twins ;  with 
three  streets,  the  middlemost  of  which  is  one  of  the  largest  in 
Rome.  As  high  as  my  expectation  was  raised,  I  confess,  the 
magnificence  of  this  city  infinitely  surpasses  it.  You  cannot 
pass  along  a  street  but  you  have  views  of  some  palace,  or 
church,  or  square,  or  fountain,  the  most  picturesque  and  noble 
one  can  imagine.' 

His  account  of  Tivoli,  in  a  letter  to  West,  is  full  of 
that  playful  humor  which  gives  such  a  charm  to  his 
familiar  correspondence. 

'  This  day,  being  in  the  palace  of  his  highness  the  Duke  of 
Modena,  he  laid  his  most  serene  commands  upon  me  to  write 


372  GRAY. 

to  Mr.  West,  and  said  he  thought  it  for  his  glory,  that  I 
should  draw  up  an  inventory  of  all  his  most  serene  posses- 
sions for  the  said  West's  perusal.  Imprimis,  a  house,  being 
in  circumference  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  two  feet  and  an  inch  ; 
the  said  house  containing  the  following  particulars,  to  wit, 
a  great  room.  Item,  another  great  room;  item,  a  bigger 
room ;  item,  another  room  ;  item,  a  vast  room  ;  item,  a  sixth 
of  the  same  ;  a  seventh  ditto;  an  eighth,  as  before;  a  ninth 
as  abovesaid  ;  a  tenth  (see  No.  1,)  ;  item,  ten  more  such, 
besides  twenty  besides,  which,  not  to  be  particular,  we  shall 
pass  over.  The  said  rooms  contain  nine  chairs,  two  tables, 
five  stools,  and  a  cricket.  From  whence  we  shall  proceed 
to  the  garden,  containing  two  millions  of  superfine  laurel 
hedges,  a  clump  of  cypress  trees,  and  half  the  river  Teve- 

rone Finis.     Dame  Nature  desired  me  to  put  in  a 

list  of  her  little  goods  and  chattels,  and,  as  they  were  small, 
to  be  very  minute  about  them.  She  has  built  here  three  or 
four  little  mountains,  and  laid  them  out  in  an  irregular  semi- 
circle ;  from  certain  others  behind,  at  a  greater  distance,  she 
has  drawn  a  canal,  into  which  she  has  put  a  little  river  of 
hers,  called  Anio  ;  she  has  cut  a  huge  cleft  between  the  two 
innermost  of  her  four  hills,  and  there  she  has  left  it  to  rts 
own  disposal ;  which  she  has  no  sooner  done,  but,  like  a 
heedless  chit,  it  tumbles  headlong  down  a  declivity  fifty  feet 
perpendicular,  breaks  itself  into  shatters,  and  is  converted 
into  a  shower  of  rain,  where  the  sun  forms  many  a  bow,  red, 
green,  blue  and  yellow.' 

Of  Naples,  he  says  in  a  letter  to  his  mother,  '  The 
streets  are  one  continued  market,  and  thronged  with 
populace  so  much  that  a  coach  can  hardly  pass.  The 
common  sort  are  a  jolly,  lively  kind  of  animals,  more 
industrious  than  Italians  usually  are  ;  they  work  till 
evening ;  then  take  their  lute  or  guitar  (for  they  all 
play)  and  walk  about  the  city,  or  upon  the  seashore 


GRAY.  373 

with  it,  to  enjoy  the  fresco.  One  sees  their  little  brown 
children  jumping  about,  stark-naked,  and  the  bigger 
ones  dancing  with  castanets,  while  others  play  on  the 
cymbal  to  them.'  He  describes  in  the  same  letter,  a 
visit  to  Herculaneum,  though  he  does  not  call  it  by 
that  name,  and  speaks  of  it  as  having  been  recently 
discovered. 

It  was  at  Reggio,  on  their  return  homeward,  that  the 
well-known  rupture  between  Gray  and  Wai  pole  took 
place,  of  which  the  latter  always  generously  took  the 
blame  upon  himself.  This  disagreement  is  easily  to 
be  explained  by  the  difference  in  character,  position, 
and  temperament  of  the  two  men.  Gray  was  retiring, 
sensitive,  and  studious ;  perhaps  irritable ;  and  with  a 
proper  share  of  the  pride  of  genius  and  learning. 
Walpole  was  young,  giddy,  and  probably  a  little  mis- 
chievous ;  sensible  of  his  position  as  son  of  the  prime 
minister  of  England,  and  not  always  treating  his  half- 
tutor  and  half-friend  with  the  consideration  which  he 
deserved.  The  wonder  rather  is  that  they  kept  to- 
gether so  long :  for  no  one  who  has  tried  it  needs  to 
be  told  that  there  is  no  such  touchstone  of  friendship 
as  travelling,  and  that  whatever  of  selfishness  or  irrita- 
bility there  is  in  one's  nature  is  sure  to  come  to  the 
surface  under  such  circumstances. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


Writers  on  Italy  and  Travellers  in  Italy,  continued  —  Smollett  —  Dr.  Moore - 
Goethe  —  Chateaubriand  —  Forsyth  —  Madame  de  Stael. 


SMOLLETT. 

IN  the  autumn  of  1764,  Smollett,  who  had  been  for 
some  months  previous  a  resident  of  Nice,  on  account 
of  his  health,  made  a  short  excursion  into  Italy.  He 
had  left  England  in  the  summer  of  1763  with  a  consti- 
tution broken  by  the  toils  of  a  literary  life,  and  spirits 
deeply  depressed  *by  the  death  of  a  beloved  daugh- 
ter, an  only  child,  in  the  fifteenth  year  of  her  age.  He 
set  out  from  Nice  early  in  September,  and  returned  to 
it  before  Christmas,  running  rapidly  over  that  portion 
of  the  peninsula  which  lies  south  of  the  Apennines 
and  between  Genoa  and  Rome.  His  travels  are  prob- 
ably more  known  by  the  sarcasms  of  Sterne,  who,  in 
his  'Sentimental  Journey'  ridicules  Smollett  under 
the  name  of  Smelfungus,  than  by  their  own  merits  or 
defects.  The  strictures  of  Sterne  are  not  undeserved. 
Smollett  was  a  man  of  an  extremely  irritable  tempera- 
ment ;  sudden  in  quarrel,  though  placable  ;  of  lofty" 
self-esteem  ;  and  inclined  to  suspicion.  These  infirmi- 
ties had  been  aggravated  by  the  wretched  life  he  had 


SMOLLETT.  375 

long  been  leading,  of  an  author  writing  for  bread  — 
a  life,  at  that  time,  made  up  of  all  sorts  of  degradations 
and  disgusts,  the  more  galling  to  Smollett  from  the 
fact  that  he  was  of  an  old  and  honorable  family,  and 
had  the  pride  of  birth  as  well  as  the  pride  of  genius,  to 
sharpen  the  stings  of  poverty  and  insult.  His  journal 
is,  for  the  most  part,  an  unattractive  record  of  annoy- 
ances and  discomforts,  marked  by  considerable  energy 
of  expression,  but  wearisome  from  its  sameness.  With 
innkeepers,  ostlers,  and  postilions,  especially,  he  seems 
to  have  been  in  a  state  of  perpetual  war ;  and  he  fell 
into  so  many  quarrels  with  them  that  the  wonder  is, 
considering  the  revengeful  and  vindictive  character  of 
the  lower  class  of  Italians,  that  he  ever  got  out  of  the 
country  alive.  He  is  every  where  devoured  by  ver- 
min, poisoned  with  bad  food,  and  pillaged  by  extor- 
tionate landlords.  Indeed,  making  all  allowances  for 
his  diseased  state  of  mind  and  body,  travelling  in  Italy 
at  that  period  must  have  been  a  very  uncomfortable 
experience,  requiring  *  patience,  animal  spirits,  and  a 
well-stocked  purse  to  make  it  at  all  endurable.  Here, 
for  instance,  are  some  of  his  records  between  Rome 
and  Florence :  — 

'  From  Perugia  to  Florence  the  posts  are  all  double,  and 
the  road  is  so  bad,  that  we  never  could  travel  above  eight- 
and-twenty  miles  a  day.  We  were  often  obliged  to  quit  the 
carriage,  and  walk  up  steep  mountains;  and  the  way  in  gen- 
eral was  so  unequal  and  stony,  that  we  were  jolted  even  to 
the  danger  of  our  lives.  I  never  felt  any  sort  of  exercise  or 
fatigue  so  intolerable  ;  and  I  did  not  fail  to  bestow  an  hun- 
dred benedictions  per  diem  upon  the  banker,  Barazzi,  by 
whose  advice  we  had  taken  this  road.  If  the  coach  had  not 


376  SMOLLETT. 

been  incredibly  strong,  it  must  have  been  shattered  to  pieces. 
The  fifth  night  we  passed  at  a  place  called  Comoccia,  a  mis- 
erable cabaret,  where  we  were  fain  to  cook  our  own  supper, 
and  lay  in  a  musty  chamber,  which  had  never  known  a  fire, 
and  indeed  had  no  fireplace,  and  where  we  run  the  risk  of 
being  devoured  by  rats.  Next  day  one  of  the  irons  of  the 
coach  gave  way  at  Arezzo,  where  we  were  detained  two 
hours  before  it  could  be  accommodated.  I  might  have  taken 
this  opportunity  to  view  the  remains  of  the  ancient  Etruscan 
amphitheatre,  and  the  temple  of  Hercules,  described  by  the 
cavalier  Lorenzo  Guazesi,  as  standing  in  the  neighborhood  of 
this  place  ;  but  the  blacksmith  assured  me  his  work  would 
be  finished  in  a  few  minutes ;  and  as  I  had  nothing  so  much 
at  heart  as  the  speedy  accomplishment  of  this  disagreeable 
journey,  I  cht>se  to  suppress  my  curiosity,  rather  than  be  the 
occasion  of  a  moment's  delay.  But  all  the  nights  we  had 
hitherto  passed  were  comfortable  in  comparison  to  this, 
which  we  suffered  at  a  small  village,  the  name  of  which  I  do 
not  remember.  The  house  was  dismal  and  dirty  beyond  all 
description  ;  the  bedclothes  filthy  enough  to  turn  the  stomach 
of  a  muleteer;  and  the  victuals  cooked  in  such  a  manner, 
that  even  a  Hottentot  could  not  have  beheld  them  without 
loathing.  We  had  sheets  of  our  own,  which  were  spread 
upon  a  mattress  ;  and  here  I  took  my  repose,  wrapped  in  a 
great  coat,  if  that  could  be  called  repose,  which  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  innumerable  stings  of  vermin.' 

That  Smollett,  in  recording  the  incidents  of  such  a 
journey,  should  have  put  a  good  deal  of  gall  into  his 
ink,  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise  ;  but  it  is  rather  re- 
markable that  his  journal  should  be  so  devoid  of  lite- 
rary merit.  The  author  of  'Humphrey  Clinker'  seems 
to  have  packed  his  genius  away  at  the  bottom  of  his 
trunk,  and  not  taken  it  out  during  his  whole  tour. 
His  spirit  is  all  put  forth  in  vituperation;  but  other- 


SMOLLETT.  377 

wise  he  is  tame  and  commonplace.  He  is  rowed  in 
a  felucca  along  that  lovely  coast  between  Nice  and 
Lerici,  and  goes  to  Rome  by  way  of  Sienna  and  re- 
turns to  Florence  by  way  of  Perugia,  and  yet  the 
grand  and  beautiful  scenery  which  passed  before  his 
eyes  does  not  appear  to  have  soothed  his  spirit  or  left 
any  pictures  upon  his  memory.  He  faithfully  records 
the  steep  hills  which  he  had  to  climb,  as  if  the  ache 
were  not  out  of  his  bones  when  he  wrote ;  but  he  says 
nothing  of  the  glorious  prospects  which  rewarded  him 
when  he  had  got  to  the  top.  His  sketches  of  the 
character  and  manners  of  the  people  remind  one  of 
the  story  told  of  a  petty  officer,  on  board  an  English 
man-of-war,  who,  when  required  to  keep  a  journal  of 
his  voyage,  and  note  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
places  he^visited,  set  down  in  his  diary  on  one  occa- 
sion, '  The  inhabitants  of  this  country  have  no  manners 
at  all,  and  their  customs  are  very  beastly.'  This  is 
just  about  the  sum  and  substance  of  Smollett's  judg- 
ment of  the  Italians. 

Smollett's  journal  is  not  wholly  occupied  with  the 
record  of  his  Italian  tour,  but  the  larger  part  is  devoted 
to  his  travels  in  France  and  his  residence  at  Nice.  In 
the  course  of  this  portion  of  the  work  he  gives  some 
advice  to  travellers,  which  is  as  sound  now  as  it  was 
then.  Had  he  always  '  recked  his  own  rede,'  he  would 
have  spared  himself  many  undignified  and  unavailing 
quarrels. 

'  And  here,  once  for  all,  I  would  advise  every  traveller, 
who  consults  his  own  ease  and  convenience,  to  be  liberal  of 
his  money  to  all  that  sort  of  people ;  and  even  to  wink  at  the 
imposition  of  aubergistes  on  the  road,  unless  it  be  very  fla- 


DH.    MOORE. 

grant.  So  sure  as  you  enter  into  disputes  with  them,  you  will 
be  put  to  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  fret  yourself  to  no  man- 
ner of  purpose.  I  have  travelled  with  economists  in  England, 
who  declared  they  would  rather  give  away  a  crown  than 
allow  themselves  to  be  cheated  of  a  farthing.  This  is  a  good 
maxim,  but  requires  a  great  share  of  resolution  and  self-denial 
to  put  in  practice.  In  one  excursion,  my  fellow-traveller  was 
in  a  passion,  and  of  consequence  very  bad  company,  from  one 
end  of  the  journey  to  the  other.  He  was  incessantly  scolding 
either  at  landlords,  landladies,  waiters,  ostlers,  or  postilions. 
We  had  bad  horses  and  bad  chaises  ;  set  out  from  every  stage 
with  the  curses  of  the  people  ;  and  at  this  expense  I  saved 
about  ten  shillings  in  a  journey  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 
For  such  a  paltry  consideration,  he  was  contented  to  be  mis- 
erable himself,  and  to  make  every  other  person  unhappy  with 
whom  he  had  any  concern.' 


DR.    MOORE. 

In  1775,  Dr.  Moore,  the  author  of  '  Zeluco,'  passed 
some  months  in  Italy,  as  medical  attendant  and  travel- 
ling companion  to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton,  and  published 
an  account  of  the  country  upon  his  return  home,  with 
the  title  of  '  A  View  of  Society  and  Manners  in  Italy  ; 
with  Anecdotes  relating  to  some  -Eminent  Characters.' 
The  work  was  favorably  received  by  the  public,  and 
indeed  has  a  considerable  degree  of  merit.  The 
author,  who  had  lived  much  upon  the  continent,  was  a 
man  of  candid  and  liberal  spirit,  and,  though  born  a 
Scotchman  and  reared  a  Presbyterian,  was  free  from 
national  prejudice  and  religious  intolerance.  He  had 
greatly  the  advantage  of  his  counfryman  Smollett, 
not  only  in  the  enlightened  judgment  he  passed  upon 


DR.    MOORE.  379 

foreign  countries,  but  in  the  patient  good  humor  with 
which  he  met  the  inconveniences  of  travel.  His  po- 
sition as  companion  to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton  gave  him 
access  to  a  higher  class  of  society  than  he  could  have 
reached  as  a  man  of  letters,  or  a  physician  ;  and  his 
tour  is  chiefly  occupied  with  observations  upon  society 
and  manners,  as  its  title  indicates.  He  had  but  little 
knowledge  of  art,  as  he  more  than  once  frankly  con- 
fesses, and  still  less  sensibility  to  nature  ;  but  he  is  a 
shrewd  and  intelligent  observer  of  men  and  manners, 
with  an  uncommonly  quick  perception  of  the  ludi- 
crous, and  a  turn  for  satire,  which,  though  always 
under  the  control  of  good  sense  and  good  nature,  yet 
serves  to  give  a  spicy  flavor  to  many  a  paragraph.  The 
popularity  of  the  work  was  mainly  owing  to  its  amusing 
sketches,  to  the  many  good  stories  which  it  contains, 
and  to  the  lively  and  animated  style  in  which  the  whole 
is  written.  He  gives  several  pages  to  an  account  of  the 
political  constitution  of  Venice,  and  to  some  incidents 
from  its  history  ;  and  I  imagine  he  is  the  first  popular 
English  author  who  relates  the  stories  of  Marino  Faliero 
and  the  Foscari.*  He  is  also  one  of  the  first  English 
travellers  who  describes  a  visit  to  Pompeii,  of  which 
then  only  a  very  small  portion  had  been  laid  open. 
As  the  work  of  Dr.  Moore  is  now  not  much  known,  I 

*  Byron,  writing  to  Murray  from  Venice,  under  date  of  Feb. 
25,  1817,  says,  'Look  into  "Moore's  (Dr.  Moore's)  View  of 
Italy,"  for  me  ;  in  one  of  the  volumes  you  will  find  an  account 
of  the  Doge  Valiere  (it  ought  to  be  Falieri)  and  his  conspiracy, 
or  the  motives  of  it..  Get  it  transcribed  for  me,  and  send  it  in 
a  letter  to  me  soon.  I  want  it,  and  cannot  find  so  good  an 
account  of  that  business  here.' 


DR.    MOORE. 

have  made  a  few  extracts  from  it,  in  order  to  shew  its 
claims  to  the  popularity  it  once  enjoyed.  Describing 
the  piazza  of  St.  Mark's  in  Venice,  he  says : 

'At  the  corner  of  the  new  Procuratie,  a  little  distant  from 
the  church,  stands  the  steeple  of  St.  Mark.  This  is  a  quad- 
Tangular  tower,  about  three  hundred  feet  in  heighj.  I  am 
told  it  is  not  uncommon  in  Italy  for  the  church  and  steeple  to 
be  in  this  state  of  disunion  ;  this  shocked  a  clergyman  of  rny 
acquaintance  very  much  ;  he  mentioned  it  to  me,  many  years 
ago,  amongst  the  errors  and  absurdities  of  the  church  of 
Rome.  The  gentleman  was  clearly  of  opinion,  that  church 
and  steeple  ought  to  be  inseparable  as  man  and  wife,  and 
that  every  church  ought  to  consider  its  steeple  as  mortar  of 
its  mortar  and  stone  of  its  stone.  An  old  captain  of  a  ship, 
who  was  present,  declared  himself  of  the  same  way  of  think- 
ing, and  swore  that  a  church,  divorced  from  its  steeple, 
appeared  to  him  as  ridiculous  as  a  ship  without  a  mast.' 

At  Rome,  he  witnesses  the  Carnival,  and  says  : 

'  The  coachmen,  who  are  placed  in  a  more  conspicuous 
point  of  view  than  others  of  the  same  rank  in  life,  and  who 
are  perfectly  known  by  the  carriages  they  drive,  generally 
affect  some  ridiculous  disguise.  Many  of  them  choose  a 
woman's  dress,  and  have  their  faces  painted,  and  adorned 
with  patches.  However  dull  these  fellows  may  be,  when  in 
breeches,  they  are,  in  petticoats,  considered  as  the  pleasantest 
men  in  the  world,  and  excite  much  laughter  in  every  street  in 
which  they  appear.  I  observed  to  an  Italian  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, that,  considering  the  staleness  of  the  joke,  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  mirth  it  seemed  to  raise.  "  When  a  whole 
city,''  answered  he,  "are  resolved  to  be  merry  for  a  week 
together,  it  is  exceedingly  convenient  to  have  a  few  estab- 
lished jokes  ready  made  ;  the  young  lawgh  at  the  novelty, 
and  the  old  from  prescription.  This  metamorphosis  of  the 
coachman  is  certainly  not  the  most  refined  kind  of  wit ;  how- 


DR.    MOORE.  381 

ever,  it  is  more  harmless  than  the  burning  of  heretics,  which 
formerly  was  a  great  source  of  amusement  to  our  populace." ' 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  the  shrewd  and  good- 
humored  satire  which  frequently  occurs  in  his  pages. 
He  is  speaking  of  the  Catholic  clergy,  and  the  unjust 
accusations  often  thrown  out  against  them. 

'  T  temember  being  in  the  company  of  an  acquaintance  of 
yours,  who  is  distinguished  for  the  delicacy  of  his  table  and 
the  length  of  his  repasts,  from  which  he  seldom  retires  with- 
out a  bottle  of  Burgundy  for  his  own  share,  not  to  mention 
two  or  three  glasses  of  champagne  between  the  courses, 
We  had  dined  a  few  miles  from  the  town  in  which  we  then 
lived,  and  were  returning  in  his  chariot ;  it  was  winter,  and 
he  was  wrapped  in  fur  to  the  nose.  As  we  drove  along,  we 
met  two  friars  walking  through  the  snow ;  little  threads  of 
icicles  hung  from  their  beards  ;  their  legs  and  the  upper  part 
of  their  feet  were  bare,  but  their  soles  were  defended  from  the 
snow  by  wooden  sandals.  "  There  goes  a  couple  of  dainty 
rogues,"  cried  your  friend,  as  we  drew  near  them.  "  Only 
think  of  the  folly  of  permitting  such  lazy,  luxurious  rascals  to 
live  in  a  state,  and  eat  up  the  portion  of  the  poor.  I  will  en- 
gage that  these  two  scoundrels,  as  lean  and  mortified  as  they 
look,  will  devour  more  victuals  in  a  day  than  would  maintain 
two  industrious  families."  He  continued  railing  against  the 
luxury  of  those  two  friars,  and  afterwards  expatiated  upon  the 
epicurism  of  the  clergy  in  general  ;  who,  he  said,  were  all 
alike  in  every  country,  and  of  every  religion.  When  we  ar- 
rived in  town,  he  told  me  he  had  ordered  a  nice  little  supper 
to  be  got  ready  at  his  house  by  the  time  of  our  return,  and  had 
lately  got  some  excellent  wine,  inviting  me  at  the  same  time 
to  go  home  with  him  ;  for,  continued  he,  as  we  have  driven 
three  miles  in  suqh  weather,  we  stand  in  great  need  of 
some  refreshment.' 


DR.    MOOKE. 

The  following  extract  shews  the  kindly  mood  in 
which  he  travelled,  and  his  disposition  to  take  hold  of 
things  by  their  right  handles. 

'  We  left  Loretto  after  dinner,  and  proceeded  through  a 
beautiful  country  to  Macerata,  a  small  town,  situated  on  a 
hill,  as  the  towns  in  Italy  generally  are.  We  only  stayed  to 
change  horses,  and  continued  our  journey  to  Tolentino, 
where,  not  thinking  it  expedient  to  begin  to  ascend  the 
Apennines  in  the  dark,  we  took  up  our  quarters  at  an  inn, 
the  best  in  the  place,  but,  by  many  degrees,  the  poorest  we 
had  seen  in  Italy.  However,  as  it  was  not  for  good  eating  or 
convenient  bedchambers  we  came  to  the  country,  that  cir- 
cumstance affected  us  very  little.  Indeed,  the  quantity  of 
victuals  presented  us  at  supper  would  have  been  as  displeas- 
ing to  a  person  of  Sancho  Panza's  way  of  thinking,  on  the 
subject  of  eating,  as  the  manner  they  were  dressed  would 
have  been  to  a  nicer  sensualist  in  that  refined  science.  The 
latter  circumstance  prevented  our  regretting  the  former,  and 
although  we  had  felt  some  uneasiness  when  we  were  told 
how  little  provisions  there  were  in  the  house,  the  moment 
they  appeared  on  the  table  we  were  all  convinced  there  was 
more  than  enough. 

'  The  poor  people  of  this  inn,  however,  shewed  the  utmost 
desire  to  please.  They  must  have  unfortunate  tempers  in- 
deed, who,  observing  this,  could  have  shocked  them  by  fret- 
fulness,  or  an  air  of  dissatisfaction.  Besides,  if  the  entertain- 
ment had  been  still  more  homely,  even  those  travellers  who 
are  accustomed  to  the  greatest  delicacies,  might  be  induced  to 
bear  it  with  patience,  for  one  night,  from  this  consideration  ; 
that  the  people  of  the  place,  who  have  just  as  good  a  natural 
right  to  the  luxuries  of  life  as  themselves,  are  obliged  to  bear 
it  always.  Nothing  is  more  apt  to  raise  indignation,  than 
to  behold  men  repining  and  fretting,  on  account  of  little  in- 
conveniences, in  the  hearing  of  those  who  are  bearing  much 
greater  every  day  with  cheerfulness.  There  is  a  want  of 


GOETHE. 

sense,  as  well  as  a  want  of  temper,  in  such  behavior.  The 
only  use  <if  complaining  of  hardships  to  those  who  cannot  re- 
lieve them,  must  be  to  obtain  sympathy;  but  if  those  to 
whom  they  complain,  are  suffering  the  same  hardships  in  a 
greater  degree,  what  sympathy  can  those  repiners  expect? 
They  certainly  find  none.' 

This  is  excellent  advice  for  travel  in  all  countries,  at 
all  times.  Smollett's  journal  proves  its  value  by  the 
annoyances  and  discomforts  which  the  neglect  of  it 
entailed  upon  him  at  every  stage  of  his  progress. 


GOETHE. 

Goethe  set  out  upon  his  Italian  tour  in  September, 
1786.  He  was  at  that  time  thirty-seven  years  old, 
perhaps  the  best  period  of  life  for  seeing  Italy,  if  it  is 
to  be  seen  but  once  ;  because  at  that  age  the  senses 
and  the  physical  power  of  action  and  endurance  re- 
main unimpaired,  but  the  effervescent  ardor  of  youth 
has  somewhat  subsided,  and  reflection  and  judgment 
are  not  lost  in  a  giddy  whirl  of  sensations.  This  jour- 
ney had  long  been  the  object  of  the  poet's  most  ardent 
hopes  and  wishes.  He  has  recorded  that  for  many 
years  previous  he  could  not  look  upon  a  book  or 
picture  which  brought  before  him  the  image  of  Italy, 
nor  even  read  a  Roman  author,  without  pain,  so  intense 
was  the  longing  which  they  awakened.  His  earnest 
desire  to  visit  Italy  arose  from  his  sense  of  its  impor- 
tance to  him  in  the  light  of  self-culture,  the  great 
object  to  which  his  life  was  dedicated.  He  had  passed 
through  his  stormy  and  impassioned  youth  ;  his  mind 
was  in  a  transition  state  ;  and  the  kind  of  reputation 


GOETHE. 

which  he  had  acquired  hy  his  '  Stella '  and  '  The  Sor- 
rows of  Werter'  —  that  of  a  melancholy  sentimentalist 
—  had  begun  to  be  somewhat  distasteful  to  his  ripened 
judgment.  He  had  written  the  first  part  of  '  Faust,' 
though  it  was  not  published  till  1790.  But  his  mind, 
at  the  time  his  journey  was  undertaken,  was  teeming 
with  two  works  quite  unlike  any  of  his  previous  pro- 
ductions —  the  claims  of  which  were  to  rest  upon  their 
tranquil  beauty  and  perfection  of  form  —  '  Iphigenia  in 
Aulis'  and  'Tasso;'  and  in  order  to  complete  these,  he 
felt  it  necessary  to  study  the  remains  of  ancient  art 
preserved  in  the  museums  of  Italy,  and  to  gather  the 
spirit  fresh  upon  the  soil  of  its  growth. 

The  account  of  his  Italian  journey,  which  was  not 
published  till  more  than  twenty  years  after  his  return, 
being  included  in  his  general  autobiography,  is  written 
in  that  exquisite  prose,  of  which,  if  Goethe  had  never 
lived,  we  should  have  supposed  the  German  language 
to  be  incapable.  The  attic  bee  hums  over  every 
page.  It  is  also  very  interesting  as  a  picture  of  the 
writer's  mind ;  and  every  phase  and  aspect  of  such  a 
mind  is  worth  preserving  and  recording ;  but  as  a 
guide-book  or  companion  to  a  tour  in  Italy,  it  does 
not  seem  to  me  of  very  great  value.  It  is  remarkable 
for  being  strongly  personal,  and,  at  the  same  time, cool, 
impassive,  and  emotionless.  He  looks  at  every  thing 
with  the  calm  stern  eyes  of  the  Olympian  Jove,  which 
do  not  soften  even  when  they  rest  upon  Semele  or 
Europa.  He  avoids  all  sentimentality  and  enthusiasm ; 
and  seems  determined  to  shew  the  world  that  the 
author  of  '  Werter'  can  pass  through  the  most  exciting 
country  in  Europe,  and  yet  never  fall  into  ecstacies, 


GOETHE.  385 

nor  yield  to  the  temptation  of  fine  writing.  He  appears 
half  a  Greek  and  half  an  Englishman  —  a  Greek  in 
his  feeling  for  art,  and  an  Englishman  in  his  practical 
sense  and  distaste  to  all  sorts  of  humbug  and  non- 
sense —  but  very  little  of  a  German.  At  Venice,  for 
instance,  where  he  spends  some  days,  every  thing 
which  he  notes-  down  shews  the  sharpest  observation 
of  the  actual  and  the  present,  but  he  has  nothing  to  say 
upon  the  past.  He  falls  into  no  strain  of  reflection 
suggested  by  the  contrast  between  the  former  glory  of 
Venice,  and  the  decay  and  decrepitude  which  he  saw. 
There  is  not  a  jot  of  moralizing  or  sentimentalizing. 
Venice  was  to  him  no  more  than  the  yellow  primrose 
was  to  Peter  Bell.  Its  unique  situation,  the  islands, 
the  canals,  the  lagoons,  interested  him  rather  as  a  geol- 
ogist and  a  naturalist,  than  as  a  poet.  On  the  Lido,  he 
sees  the  sea  for  the  first  time,  a  sight  which  his  friend 
Schiller  died  without  having  enjoyed  ;  but  after  speaking 
of  the  shells  and  the  aquatic  plants,  he  turns  to  the 
great  sea  itself,  and,  as  if  apologizing  for  not  having 
before  noticed  it,  says,  '  The  sea  is  indeed  a  great 
sight.  I  will  endeavor  to  have  a  sail  upon  it  in  a 
vessel ;  the  gondolas  do  not  venture  out.'  At  Rome,  a 
day  or  two  after  his  arrival,  he  thus  records  his  feel- 
ings:' 'Here  I  am  now  living  with  a  calmness  and 
tranquillity  to  which  I  have  for  a  long  while  been  a 
stranger.  My  practice  to  see  and  take  all  things  as 
they  are,  my  fidelity  in  letting  the  eye  be  my  light,  my 
perfect  renunciation  of  all  pretension,  have  again  come 
to  my  aid,  and  make  me  calmly,  but  most  intensely, 
happy.' 

There   is   also   a   remarkable    passage,    written   at 

VOL.  ii.  25 


386  GOETHE. 

Terni,  just  before  his  arrival  in  Rome,  in  which,  after 
observing  that  with  ruins  we  must  first  painfully  recon- 
struct the  very  thing  we  wish  to  form  an  idea  of,  he 
goes  on  to  say,  '  With  what  is  called  classical  ground 
the  case  stands  rather  different.  Here,  if  only  we  do 
not  go  to  work  fancifully,  but  take  the  ground  really 
as  it  is,  then  we  shall  have  the  decisive  arena  which 
moulded  more  or  less  the  greatest  of  events.  Accord- 
ingly, I  have  hitherto  actively  employed  my  geological 
and  landscape  eye,  to  the  suppressing  of  fancy  and 
sensibility,  in  order  to  gain  for  myself  an  unbiassed 
and  distinct  notion  of  the  locality.  By  such  means, 
history  fixes  itself  on  our  minds  with  a  marvellous 
vividness.' 

In  this  spirit  he  every  where  travels  and  studies ; 
eagerly  striving  to  catch  the  life  and  soul  of  antiquity, 
but  not  anxious  about  the  costume.  He  wishes  to  see 
and  feel  the  influences  that  moulded  the  mind  and 
character  of  the  ancients,  but  parades  no  rags  of  learn- 
ing to  prove  that  he  understood  what  that  mind  and 
character  were.  Thus  he  never  puts  on  what  may 
be  called  the  regulation  dress  of  scholarship.  There 
is  not  a  Latin  quotation  in  his  whole  tour,  and  no  ref- 
erence to  Virgil,  Horace,  or  Cicero. 

After  having  been  for  some  time  in  Rome,  he  says 
of  it  very  truly,  '  It  becomes  every  day  more  difficult 
to  fix  the  termination  of  my  stay  in  Rome  ;  just  as  one 
finds  the  sea  continually  deeper,  the  further  one  sails 
on  it,  so  it  is  also  with  the  examination  of  this  city.' 

Every  one  who  has  been  in  Rome  will  immediately 
assent  to  the  truth  of  these  remarks :  — '  Wherever  one 
goes  and  casts  a  look  around,  the  eye  is  at  once  struck 


GOETHE.  387 

with  some  landscape  —  forms  of  every  kind  and  style  ; 
ifpalaces  and  ruins,  gardens  and  wastes,  the  distant  and 
the  near,  houses,  stables,  triumphal  arches  and  columns, 
often  all  so  close  together,  that  it  might  be  sketched 
on  a  single  sheet ;  one  should  have  a  thousand  points 
of  steel  to  write  with,  and  what  can  a  single  pen  do ! 
and  then  in  the  evening  one  is  weary  and  exhausted 
with  the  day's  seeing  and  admiring.' 

Another  peculiarity  which  his  travels  reveal  is  an 
entire  want  of  sensibility  to  Christian  art  and  Christian 
antiquities.  He  looks  upon  every  thing  in  Italy  with 
the  eye,  not  so  much  of  a  protestant  as  of  a  heathen. 
This  feeling  is  curiously  displayed  in  the  account  he 
gives  of  his  visit  to  Assissi :  — '  Here,  as  I  had  learned 
from  Palladio  and  Volckmann,  a  noble  temple  of  Mi- 
nerva, built  in  the  time  of  Augustus,  was  still  standing 
in  perfect  repair.  At  Madonna  del  Angelo,  therefore, 
I  quitted  my  vetturino,  leaving  him  to  proceed  by  him- 
self to  Foligno,  and  set  off  in  the  face  of  a  strong 
wind  for  Assissi,  for  I  longed  for  a  foot-journey  through 
a  country  so  solitary  for  me.  I  left  on  my  left  the 
vast  mass  of  churches,  piled  Babel-wise  one  over 
another,  where  St.  Francis  reposes,  with  aversion ;  for 
I  thought  to  myself  that  the  people  who  assembled  in 
them  were  mostly  of  the  same  stamp  with  my  captain.' 
The  '  captain '  was  an  ignorant  Catholic  from  whom 
he  had  just  parted,  and  who  had  bored  him  with  many 
silly  questions  about  the  religion  of  the  Protestants. 
He  then  goes  on  to  describe  the  ruins  of  the  temple 
of  Minerva  with  great  admiration  and  great  minute- 
ness. This  is  surely  one  of  the  most  curious  and 
characteristic  records  ever  made  bv  man.  That  he 


388  GOETHE. 

should  have  passed  by,  on  the  other  side,  that  won- 
derful old  church  with  its  unique  treasures  of  art,  not™ 
only  with  indifference,  but  actual  aversion,  and  hurried 
to  see  half  a  dozen  Corinthian  columns  jammed  in 
between  the  commonplace,  modern  buildings  of  an 
insignificant  public  square,  reveals  a  state  of  mind  in 
which  no  traveller,  before  or  after  him,  has  ever 
shared,  or  at  least  cared  to  confess. 

He  has  no  feeling  for  the  ceremonials  of  the  Romish 
church.  The  splendid  processions,  the  rich  vestments, 
the  curling  clouds  of  incense,  and  the  bursts  of  music 
do  not  kindle  his  imagination,  and  make  but  a  faint 
impression  upon  his  senses,  as  the  following  record 
witnesses :  — 

'  On  Christinas  day  I  saw  the  Pope  and  the  whole  Consis- 
tory in  St.  Peter's,  where  he  celebrated  high  mass,  partly 
before,  and  partly  from  his  throne.  It  is  of  its  kind  an  un- 
equalled sight,  splendid  and  dignified  enough,  but  I  have 
grown  so  old  in  my  protestant  Diogenism,  that  this  pomp  and 
splendor  revolt  more  than  they  attract  me.  I,  like  my  pious 
forefathers,  am  disposed  to  say  to  these  spiritual  conquerors 
of  the  world,  "  Hide  not  from  me  the  sun  of  higher  art  and 
pure  humanity." 

'  Yesterday,  which  was  the  feast  of  Epiphany,  I  saw  and 
heard  mass  celebrated  after  the  Greek  rite.  The  ceremonies 
appeared  to  rne  more  solemn,  more  severe,  more  suggestive, 
and  yet  more  popular  than  the  Latin. 

'  But  these,  too,  I  also  felt  again  that  I  am  too  old  for  any 
thing  except  for  truth  alone.  These  ceremonies  and  operas, 
these  gyrations  and  ballet-like  movements,  pass  off  from  me 
like  water  from  an  oil-skin  cloak.  An  influence  of  nature,  on 
the  contrary,  like  a  sunset  from  the  Villa  Madonna, or  a  work 
of  art,  like  my  much  honored  Juno,  makes  a  deep  and  vivid 
impression  on  me.' 


GOETHE.  389 

It  is  this  pagan  mood  of  mind  which  leads  him  to 
make  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  statements  about 
himself  that  man  ever  committed  to  paper.  On  the 
first  day  of  his  arrival  in  Rome  he  writes  thus  :  '  In 
a  moral  sense,  too,  how  salutary  is  it  for  me  to  live 
awhile  among  a  wholly  sensual  people  ! ' 

His  residence  in  Rome  gave  him  an  opportunity  of 
indulging  that  love  of  mystification,  and  those  habits 
of  reserve,  which  were  marked  traits  in  his  character. 
He  seems  to  have  kept  his  place  of  destination  a  secret 
from  most  of  his  friends,  as  the  first  words  he  writes  in 
Rome  shew  :  '  At  last  I  can  speak  out,  and  greet  my 
friends  with  good  humor.  May  they  pardon  my  se- 
crecy, and  what  has  been,  as  it  were,  a  subterranean 
journey  hither.'  It  would  appear  also  that  he  travel- 
led under  an  assumed  name,  and  this  incognito  was 
strengthened  by  a  little  incident  which  he  relates  with 
much  satisfaction.  A  rumor  had  spread  among  the 
artists  that  the  unknown  stranger  was  the  celebrated 
Goethe,  but  one  of  them,  who  maintained  that  he 
knew  him  well,  after  having  seen  the  new  comer, 
stoutly  maintained  that  it  was  not  he  but  quite  a  differ- 
ent person.  Goethe  seems  to  have  encouraged,  and 
to  have  induced  his  friends  to  encourage  this  mistaken 
notion  ;  for  a  few  days  after  narrating  the  above  anec- 
dote he  says : 

'  My  strange  and  perhaps  whimsical  incognito  proves  use- 
ful to  me  in  many  ways  that  I  never  should  have  thought 
of.  As  every  one  thinks  himself  in  duty  bound  to  ignore  who 
I  am,  and  consequently  never  ventures  to  speak  to  me. of  my- 
self and  my  works,  they  have  no  alternative  left  them  but  to 
speak  of  themselves,  or  of  the  matters  in  which  they  are  most 


390  GOETHE. 

interested,  and  in  this  way  I  become  circumstantially  informed 
of  the  occupations  of  each,  and  of  every  thing  that  is  either 
taken  in  hand  or  produced.  Hofrath  Reifenstein  entered  into 
this  whim  of  mine  ;  as,  however,  for  special  reasons,  he  could 
not  bear  the  name  which  1  had  assumed,  he  immediately  made 
a  baron  of  me,  and  I  am  now  called  the  "  Baron  gegen  Ron- 
danini  ueber,"  (the  Baron  who  lives  opposite  to  the  Palace 
Rondanini.)  This  designation  is  sufficiently  precise,  espec- 
ially as  the  Italians  are  accustomed  to  speak  of  people  either 
by  their  Christian  names,  or  else  by  some  nickname. 
Enough  ;  I  have  gained  my  object  ;  and  escape  the  inces- 
sant annoyance  of  having  to  give  to  every  body  an  account  of 
myself  and  my  works.' 

This  incognito,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  loosely 
worn  and  easily  slipped  off;  especially,  when  by  doing 
so,  an  opportunity  was  afforded  of  paying  a  compliment 
to  some  person  of  rank  or  distinction. 

There  is  also  a  peculiarity  in  Goethe's  journal  of  his 
residence  in  Italy,  which  runs  through  his  whole  life  ; 
and  that  is,  its  self-reference.  We  see  constant  indi- 
cations of  how  important  he  was  to  himself.  Self- 
culture  —  the  growth  of  his  own  mind  —  these  seem  not 
only  the  highest,  but  the  only  aims  which  he  proposes 
to  himself  in  life.  Every  thing  which  he  sees  comes 
before  him  in  this  relation,  and  is  tried  by  this  standard. 
This  manner  of  looking  at  things  is  not  without  its  ludi- 
crous side,  and  a  man  of  wit  might  easily  parody  it, 
and  hold  it  up  to  the  laughter  of  the  unthinking  ;  but 
that  would  be  an  unworthy  way  of  dealing  with  a  man 
like  Goethe.  Such  a  mind  as  his  is  fairly  entitled  to 
watch  and  record  its  own  movements,  and  to  chronicle 
every  phase  and  incident  of  its  growth  ;  and  the  world 
should  be  grateful  for  the  confidence  bestowed  upon  it. 


GOETHE.  391 

But  the  price  we  have  to  pay  for  such  revelations  is  the 
disgust  awakened  by  the  herd  of  clumsy  imitators. 
The  real  Jupiter  and  the  real  thunder  are  grand  ;  but 
the  mock  Jupiter — the  Salmoneus  —  with  his  second- 
hand thunder,  is  a  burden  to  the  spirit. 

But  after  criticism  has  exhausted  all  its  objections, 
there  remains,  on  the  other  side,  a  great  deal  to  com- 
mend and  to  admire  in  Goethe's  Italian  journey.  We 
meet  there  profound  and  striking  remarks  on  nature 
and  art,  just  and  shrewd  reflections  uppn  life  and  man- 
ners, sketches  of  scenery  rapidly  but  correctly  drawn, 
and  over  all  a  serene  atmosphere  of  genial  yet  deep 
enjoyment,  like  the  violet  haze  which  hangs  over  an 
Italian  landscape.  His  faculties  bring  him  the  most 
truthful  records  —  for  no  man  who  had  read  so  much 
ever  had  such  senses  —  and  he  sets  them  down  most 
faithfully,  without  concealment  or  affectation.  He  dis- 
dains to  assume  a  rapture  which  he  does  not  feel  ;  and 
whatever  he  likes  or  dislikes  is  chronicled  without  a 
scruple  or  apology  ;  as  we  have  seen  in  the  account  he 
gives  of  his  visit  to  Assissi.  There  never  was  a  book 
more  free  from  cant  and  affectation.  The  reader  has 
every  where  the  satisfaction  of  feeling  that  he  is  hear- 
ing the  testimony  of  a  witness  who  is  speaking  the 
truth. 

Some  of  the  citations  already  made  will  confirm 
these  favorable  judgments,  and  many  more  might  be 
added  to  them.  Speaking  of  what  he  would  like  to  do 
in  Rome,  if  he  had  time  enough  for  every  thing,  he 
says,  '  Above  all,  history  is  read  here  far  differently 
than  in  any  other  place  on  earth.  In  other  places,  we 
read  from  without,  within  ;  here  we  believe  that  we  are 


392  GOETHE. 

reading  from  within,  without ;  all  things  move  from 
ourselves  and  group  themselves  around  us.'  His  words 
are  not  easily  translated,  but  all  who  have  been  in 
Rome  will  feel  the  truth  of  the  observation.  On  his 
return  from  Sicily  to  Naples,  he  writes  a  letter  to 
Herder,  from  which  I  translate  a  few  sentences. 

'  As  regards  Homer,  a  veil  has  fallen  from  my  eyes.  His 
images  and  descriptions,  poetical  as  they  are,  are  also  won- 
derfully true,  and  presented  with  a  clearness  and  vitality 
which  are  almost  fearful.  Even  the  wildest  and  most  im- 
probable adventures  have  a  naturalness  which  I  have  never 
felt  so  fully  as  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  scenes  in  which 
they  are  laid.  Let  me  briefly  thus  state  my  thought.  They 
presented  existing  objects  simply  as  they  are,  but  we  com- 
monly aim  at  effect ;  they  described  the  fearful,  we  describe 
fearfully  ;  they  the  beautiful,  we  beautifully  ;  and  so  of  the 
rest.  Hence  arise  extravagance,  affectation,  bad  taste,  and 
bombast.  For  when  a  man  is  aiming  solely  at  effect,  he  can 
never  make  his  work  moving  enough.' 

How  striking  and  comprehensive  this  is,  and  how 
true  ! 

His  descriptions  of  Naples,  and  his  observations  upon 
the  manners  and  character  of  the  people,  are  admira- 
ble. The  following  is  a  characteristic  record  of  the 
impressions  made  upon  him  in  that  brilliant  region  : 

'  We  see  here  a  remarkable  light-heartedness,  and  every 
where  the  greatest  and  most  sympathetic  enjoyment  of  life. 
The  gay  and  many-colored  flowers  and  fruits  with  which 
nature  decorates  herself,  seem  to  invite  man  to  adorn  with  as 
bright  colors  as  possible  every  thing  which  he  uses.  All, 
who  can  command  the  means,  ornament  their  hats  with  rib- 
bons, silken  scarfs  or  flowers.  Chairs  and  chests  of  drawers, 
even  in'  the  humblest  houses,  are  embellished  with  flowers 


CHATEAUBRIAND.  393 

upon  a  golden  ground.  The  one-horse  calaslies  are  painted 
bright  red,  the  carved  work  gilded,  the  horses  decked  with 
artificial  flowers,  scarlet  tassels,  and  bits  of  tinsel.  Many 
have  bunches  of  feathers,  and  others  small  flags  upon  their 
heads,  which  move  with  every  motion.  We  are  generally 
accustomed  to  regard  a  love  of  gay  colors  as  in  bad  and  bar- 
barous taste,  and  with  us  this  is  true  in  some  measure  ;  but, 
under  so  bright  and  blue  a  heaven,  nothing  is  really  gay,  for 
nothing  can  outshine  the  light  of  the  sun  and  its  reflection  in 
the  sea.  The  most  vivid  colors  are  thrown  into  the  shade  by 
that  powerful  splendor ;  and  as  all  the  hues  of  Nature,  the 
green  of  the  vegetable  world,  the  brown,  red,  and  yellow 
patches  of  earth,  strike  with  full  force  upon  the  eye,  so  the 
flowers  and  the  costume  of  men  and  women  fall  into  the  gen- 
eral harmony  of  tint.  The  scarlet  boddices  and  gowns  of  the 
women  of  Nettuno,  adorned  with  broad  stripes  of  gold  and 
silver,  the  other  bright-colored  national  costumes,  the  gaily- 
painted  ships,  all  seem  to  be  endeavoring  to  rival  the  glow  of 
the  sky  and  the  sea,  that  they  may  not  be  undiscerned.' 


CHATEAUBRIAND. 

In  the  year  1803,  Italy  was  visited  by  a  man  of 
genius  who  presents  the  greatest  possible  contrast  to 
Goethe,  both  in  the  character  of  his  mind  and  in  the 
spirit  with  which  he  viewed  the  objects  which  presented 
themselves  to  his  observation.  This  was  Chateaubriand. 
His  temperament  was  naturally  imaginative,  impas- 
sioned, meditative,  and  religious.  Though  only' thirty- 
five  years  old,  he  had  passed  through  a  long  life  of 
experiences  and  vicissitudes,  such  as  would  have 
thrown  a  shade  of  permanent  melancholy  over  even 
the  lightest  spirit.  He  had  seen  his  house  and  his  for- 
tunes shattered  by  the  lightnings  of  the  Revolution.  He 


394  CHATEAUBRIAND. 

had  visited  America  in  early  youth  and  been  the  guest 
of  the  illustrious  Washington.  He  had  plunged  into 
the  then  deep  and  unbroken  solitudes  of  the  West,  lived 
among  the  red  men.  and,  in  the  shade  of  primeval  and 
untrodden  forests,  had  gathered  the  materials  of  those 
vivid  but  untrue  descriptions  with  which  he  thrilled  the 
warm  sensibilities  of  Europe  in  the  glowing  pages  of 
his  '  Atala.'  He  had  nearly  died  of  want  in  the  popu- 
lous solitudes  of  London,  more  pitiless  than  the  unpeo- 
pled solitudes  of  the  Mississippi.  A  new  career  was 
now  opened  to  him.  He  had  acquired  a  great  reputa- 
tion by  the  publication  of  his  '  Genie  du  Christianisme,' 
and  Bonaparte,  at  that  time  First  Consul,  eager  to 
secure  the  services  of  men  of  genius,  had  made  him 
secretary  of  legation  at  Rome,  where  Cardinal  Fesch 
was  ambassador. 

The  record  which  he  has  left  of  the  impressions 
which  Italy  made  upon  him  is  brief,  and  mostly  con- 
fined to  Rome  and  its  vicinity.  In  the  mood  of  mind 
in  which  he  found  himself,  the  present  and  the  actual 
were  merely  types  and  symbols.  Nothing  is  de- 
scribed as  it  is,  but  every  thing  serves  to  suggest 
something  else.  He  sees  every  thing  through  a  veil  of 
association  and  recollection.  Goethe  paints  Rome,  but 
Chateaubriand  sets  it  to  music.  The  latter  does  not 
contemplate  it  as  an  artist  or  a  philosopher,  but  first  as 
a  Christian,  and  secondly  as  a  classical  scholar.  Rome 
is  most  interesting  to  him  as  the  head  of  the  church ; 
and  the  blood  of  martyrs  which  has  bathed  its  soil  is 
more  to  him  than  the  dust  of  antiquity  which  covers  it. 
There  is  a  strain  of  melancholy,  not  bitter  but  pensive 
and  devotional,  breathing  through  his  descriptions, 


CHATEAUBRIAND.  395 

which  sounds  like  the  chant  of  a  band  of  pilgrims  ap- 
proaching a  shrine.  His  musical  prose  is  set  upon  a 
minor  key.  The  ruins  of  Rome  and  its  neighborhood 
had  -a  peculiar  attraction  to  one  who  had  seen  '  the 
ploughshare  of  ruin  '  driven  over  the  ideas  and  tradi- 
tions of  a  great  kingdom,  and  had  nearly  perished  him- 
self under  the  falling  fragments.  He  feels  their  power 
both  as  a  scholar  and  a  Christian,  and  the  thoughts 
which  they  call  forth  are  those  sometimes  of  a  poet  and 
sometimes  of  a  prophet.  He  sees  the  hand  of  God  in 
the  destruction  of  the  monuments  of  paganism,  and  an 
ever-living  faith  springs  up  to  assure  him  as  the  ivy 
and  acanthus,  which  twine  round  the  broken  fragments, 
are  pledges  of  the  undying  youth  of  Nature.  He  was 
especially  impressed  with  the  ruins  of  the  Villa  of 
Hadrian,  of  which  he  gives  a  long  account,  closing 
with  these  striking  reflections  : 

'  Before  quitting  the  Villa  Adriana,  I  filled  my  pockets 
with  bits  of  porphyry,  alabaster,  verd  antique,  and  pieces  of 
stucco  and  mosaic,  all  which  I  afterwards  threw  away. 
These  ruins  are  hereafter  nothing  to  me,  because  it  is  not 
probable  that  any  thing  will  ever  cany  me  to  them  again. 
At  every  moment  we  die  to  a  period,  an  object,  a  person, 
that  we  are  never  to  see  again.  Life  is  a  successive  death. 
Many  travellers,  who  have  gone  before  me,  have  written 
their  names  on  the  marbles  of  the  Villa  Adriana.  They  have 
hoped  to  prolong  their  existence,  by  attaching  a  memorial  of 
their  fleeting  presence  to  celebrated  spots  ;  but  they  have 
been  deceived.  While  I  was  attempting  to  decipher  a  name, 
newly  written  in  pencil,  which  I  thought  I  recognized,  a  bird 
started  from  a  tuft  of  ivy,  and  a  few  drops  of  the  recent 
shower  were  shaken  from  its  leaves,  and  falling  upon  the 
name,  blotted  it  out  forever.' 


396  CHATEAUBRIAND. 

By  far  the  most  striking  record  which  Chateaubriand 
has  left  of  the  impressions  which  Italy  made  upon  him, 
is  contained  in  his  letter  to  M.  de  Fontanes,  dated 
Rome,  January  10,  1804,  which  is  indeed  one  of  the 
most  elaborate  and  beautiful  of  all  his  compositions.  It 
is  entirely  devoted  to  Rome  and  its  environs;  and  the 
ruins  which  embellish  and  dignify  the  soil  are  dwelt 
upon  with  especial  interest.  He  throws  over  that 
whole  region  the  rapid,  idealizing,  and  assimilating 
glance  of  genius.  It  is  a  series  of  exquisite  pictures, 
painted  by  the  light  of  a  setting  sun,  and  enclosed  in 
frameworks  of  rich  and  melancholy  reflection.  He 
arrests  and  condenses  the  spirit  that  hangs  over  the 
landscape,  enshrining  it  in  his  sparkling  and  perfumed 
periods,  as  an  acre  of  roses  reappears  in  a  few  drops 
of  intense  and  penetrating  essence.  The  whole  letter 
is  a  grand  symphony  of  eloquence  and  poetry,  which 
recalls  the  noblest  productions  of  Beethoven  in  a  sister 
art.  I  proceed  to  translate  a  few  passages  from  it, 
regretting  that  so  much  of  the  charm  of  the  style  must 
pass  off  in  the  course  of  transfusion  into  another 
language. 

Speaking  of  the  Roman  Campagna,  he  says  : 

4  You  perceive  here  and  there  fragments  of  Roman  roads 
in  spots  where  there  is  now  no  travel,  or  the  dry  beds  of  win- 
ter torrents,  which,  seen  from  a  distance,  appear  like  roads, 
frequented  and  worn  by  travel,  but  are  really  only  the  de- 
serted track  of  a  stormy  flood  which  has  passed  away  like 
the  Roman  people.  A  few  trees  are  with  difficulty  discov- 
ered, but  every  where  the  ruins  of  aqueducts  and  tombs  are 
prominent ;  ruins  which  seem  to  be  the  forests  and  indigenous 
plants  of  a  soil  composed  of  the  dust  of  the  de^d  and  the  frag- 


CHATEAUBRIAND.  397 

merits  of  empires.  Often,  upon  the  extended  plain,  I  have 
believed  that  I  saw  rich  harvests,  but  on  approaching  found 
that  1  had  been  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  the  withered 
herbage.  Every  where  under  these  barren  harvests  the 
traces  of  ancient  cultivation  are  distinguishable.  Here  are 
no  birds,  no  laborers,  none  of  the  movements  of  rural  life,  no 
lowing  of  cattle,  no  villages.  A  few  decaying  farm-houses 
appear  in  the  midst  of  the  general  desolation,  but  there  issue 
from  them  neither  smoke,  nor  sound,  nor  inhabitants.  A 
kind  of  savage,  almost  naked,  pale,  and  wasted  by  fever, 
keeps  guard  over  these  sad  abodes,  like  the  ghosts  which,  in 
our  Gothic  tales,  forbid  approach  to  deserted  castles. 

'You  will  think  perhaps,  my  dear  friend,  after  this  descrip- 
tion, that  nothing  can  be  more  repulsive  than  these  Roman 
plains.  It  is  far  otherwise ;  they  have  an  inconceivable 
grandeur.  One  is  ever  ready,  in  looking  at  them,  to  exclaim 
with  Virgil, 

"  Salve,  magna  parens  frugum,  Saturnia  tellus, 
Magna  virum." 

If  you  view  them  with  the  eye  of  a  political  economist,  you 
will  be  in  despair  ;  if  you  contemplate  them  as  an  artist,  a 
poet,  or  even  a  philosopher,  you  will  not  wish  them  to  be 
other  than  they  are.  The  aspect  of  a  field  of  corn,  or  of  a 
hillside  covered  with  vines,  will  not  awaken  in  you  such  emo- 
tions as  the  sight  of  this  region,  where  modern  cultivation 
has  never  renewed  the  vigor  of  the  soil,  which  remains  as  old 
as  the  ruins  which  cover  it. 

'  Nothing  can  equal  the  beauty  of  the  lines  of  the  Roman 
horizon,  the  gentle  inclination  of  the  plains,  and  the  soft  and 
blending  outlines  of  the  mountains  which  enclose  them.  The 
valleys  in  the  Campagna  often  take  the  form  of  an  arena,  a 
circus,  or  a  hippodrome  ;  the  sides  are  cut  in  the  shape  of  ter- 
races, as  if  the  powerful  hands  of  the  old  Romans  had  carried 
off  the  soil.  A  peculiar  vapor,  spread  over  the  distant  points, 
gives  roundness  to  every  object,  and  veils  whatever  of  harsh- 


CHATEAUBRIAND. 

ness  or  abruptness  there  may  be  in  their  forms.  The  shadows 
are  never  black  and  heavy,  and  there  are  no  masses  of  rock 
or  foliage  so  dark  as  not  to  admit  some  gleams  of  light.  A 
singularly  harmonious  tint  blends  together  the  sky,  the  earth, 
and  the  water  ;  also  the  surfaces,  by  means  of  an  insensible 
gradation  of  colors,  unite  at  their  extremities,  so  that  the  eye 
cannot  mark  the  point  where  one  shade  begins  and  another 
ends.  You  have  doubtless  admired  in  the  landscapes  of 
Claude  Lorraine  that  light  which  seems  ideal  and  more  beau- 
tiful than  nature.  Such  is  the  light  of  Rome. 

'  I  was  never  weary  of  seeing,  from  the  Villa  Borghese, 
the  sun  go  down  behind  the  cypresses  of  Monte  Mario  and 
the  pines  of  the  Villa  Pamphili  planted  by  Le  Notre.  I  have 
stood  upon  the  Ponte  Molle  to  enjoy  the  sublime  spectacle  of 
the  close  of  day.  The  summits  of  the  Sabine  hills  appeared 
of  lapis  lazuli  and  pale  gold,  while  their  bases  and  sides  were 
bathed  in  vapors  of  violet  or  purple.  Sometimes  lovely 
clouds,  like  fairy  cars,  borne  along  by  the  evening  wind  with 
inimitable  grace,  recall  the  mythological  tales  of  the  descent 
of  the  deities  of  Olympus.  Sometimes  old  Rome  seems  to 
have  spread  all  over  the  west  the  purple  of  her  consuls  and 
her  Caesars,  beneath  the  last  steps  of  the  god  of  day.  This 
rich  decoration  does  not  vanish  so  quickly  as  in  our  climate. 
When  we  think  that  the  hues  are  about  to  disappear,  they 
revive  on  some  other  point  of  the  horizon  ;  one  twilight  fol- 
lows another,  and  the  magic  of  sunset  is  prolonged.' 

In  another  part  of  his  journal  he  thus  records  some 
of  the  impressions  made  upon  him  by  the  aspect  of 
Rome  by  moonlight : 

'  From  the  height  of  Trinita  de'  Monti,  the  bell-towers 
and  the  distant  edifices  appear  like  the  effaced  sketches  of  a 
painter,  or  like  the  inequalities  of  a  seacoast,  dimly  discerned 
from  the  deck  of  an  anchored  vessel. 

'  Rome  is  asleep  in  the  midst  of  these  ruins.     This  star  of 


JOSEPH    FORSYTH.  399 

the  night,  this  orb  which  is  supposed  to  be  extinguished 
and  unpeopled,  moves  through  her  pale  solitudes,  above  the 
solitudes  of  Rome.  She  shines  upon  streets  without  inhab- 
itants, upon  enclosed  spaces,  open  squares,  and  gardens  in 
which  no  one  walks,  upon  monasteries  where  the  voices  of 
monks  are  no  longer  heard,  upon  cloisters  which  are  as 
deserted  as  the  arches  of  the  Colosseum. 

4  What  has  been  going  on  during  the  last  eighteen  hundred 
years,  at  this  hour  and  in  these  spots  ?  Not  only  is  ancient 
Italy  no  more,  but  Italy  of  the  middle  ages  has  disappeared. 
Every  where  the  trace  of  these  two  Italies  is  yet  distinctly 
marked  in  Rome.  If  modern  Rome  shews  St.  Peter's  and 
all  its  wonders  of  art,  ancient  Rome  opposes  to  them  the  Pan- 
theon and  all  its  ruins;  if  the  former  summons  from  the  Capitol 
its  consuls  and  emperors,  the  latter  evokes  from  the  Vatican 
the  long  line  of  its  pontiffs.  The  Tiber  separates  the  two  glo- 
ries. Mourning  in  the  same  dust,  pagan  Rome  sinks  deeper 
and  deeper  into  its  tombs,  and  Christian  Rome  slowly  descends 
into  the  catacombs  from  which  it  emerged.' 


JOSEPH    FORSYTH. 

This  learned  and  accomplished  man  went  to  Italy  at 
the  close  of  the  year  1801,  and  remained  there  till  the 
spring  of  1803.  He  was  a  native  of  Scotland,  but  had 
passed  many  years  of  his  life  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood of  London,  in  the  modest  and  laborious  duties 
of  a  teacher  of  youth.  Thoroughly  acquainted  with 
Roman  and  Italian  literature,  he  had  long  cherished  the 
hope  of  visiting  Italy  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  continent 
was  thrown  open  to  English  travellers  by  the  peace  of 
Amiens,  he  eagerly  grasped  the  opportunity  held  out  to 
him  of  accomplishing  the  dream  of  his  life.  He  started 
on  this  journey  within  five  days  after  hearing  of  the 


400  JOSEPH   FORSYTH. 

event  which  made  it  possible  —  little  imagining  at  how 
great  a  price  he  was  to  purchase  this  privilege.  He 
was  arrested  at  Turin,  by  the  French  police,  in  May, 
1803,  under  that  cruel  and  wicked  decree  of  Bona- 
parte's, by  which  all  British  subjects  travelling  in 
the  French  dominions  were  seized  and  detained  on  the 
breaking  out  of  hostilities  between  the  two  countries. 
He  languished  eleven  years  in  captivity,  in  various 
parts  of  France,  and  died  within  a  little  more  than  a 
year  after  his  return  home,  his  constitution  having  been 
worn  out  by  the  sufferings  and  anxieties  he  had  passed 
through.  His  case  is  but  a  single  leaf  to/n  out  of  a 
huge  volume  of  sorrow,  for  the  whole  number  of  inno- 
cent and  unsuspecting  travellers,  upon  whom  this  bar- 
barous decree  fell,  was  not  far  from  ten  thousand  ;  and 
though  many  were  released,  and  many  made  their 
escape,  yet  what  an  aggregate  of  wretchedness  and 
heart-break  must  have  gone  up  to  the  throne  of  God, 
to  plead  against  the  heartless  tyrant  who  could  so 
cruelly  abuse  the  power  he  enjoyed.  —/** 

Forsyth's  '  Remarks  on  Antiquities,  Arts  and  Letters 
during  an  Excursion  in  the  years  1802  and  1803,' 
were  prepared  during  the  author's  captivity,  and  pub- 
lished in  England  in  1812,  in  the  hope  that  by  this  step 
he  might  gain  the  boon  of  freedom  from  a  ruler  who 
patronized  literature,  at  least  when  it  did  not  stand  in 
his  way.  But  his  effort  failed  ;  and  he  is  said  to  have  ever 
regretted  the  publication  of  his  work,  as  having  been 
prepared  under  circumstances  which  made  it  neces- 
sarily fragmentary,  imperfect,  and  far  removed  from 
that  standard  of  excellence  which  existed  in  his  own 
mind  —  which  he  might  more  nearly  have  approached 


JOSEPH    FORSYTE.  401 

had  he  written  out  his  notes  aided  by  leisure,  a  mind  at 
ease,  and  libraries  to  consult. 

But  Forsyth  had  no  cause  for  self-dissatisfaction, 
except  in  that  comparison  between  the  actual  and  the 
possible  which  alloys  the  triumph  of  the  most  success- 
ful author ;  for  his  journal  is  an  admirable  work  ;  in 
some  respects  the  best  that  has  yet  appeared  upon  Italy. 
His  memory  was  very  retentive,  and  his  knowledge 
various,  accurate,  and  even  profound.  Architecture, 
especially,  he  thoroughly  understood,  and  his  criticisms 
in  this  department  are  always  striking,  vigorous,  and 
generally  sound;  though  sometimes  not  intelligible  to 
the  common  reader  from  the  technical  language  in 
which  they  are  expressed.  His  taste  in  this  art  would 
have  been  perfect  had  it  been  a  little  more  tolerant,  and 
had  he  been  a  little  less  exclusive  in  his  admiration  for 
classical  form.s.  His  observation  is  every  where  sharp 
and  accurate,  and  his  judgments,  perfectly  manly  and 
independent,  are  never  flippant  or  offensive.  His  mind 
and  way  of  looking  at  things  are  eminently  English. 
He  never  stoops  to  sentiment,  never  indulges  in  poetical 
flights,  takes  nothing  upon  trust,  and  sometimes  growls 
out  his  satisfaction,  as  if  wrung  from  him  against  his 
will.  The  great  defect  of  his  work  is  that  it  is  not 
amiable  enough  in  tone.  His  censure  is  too  general 
and  too  hearty,  and  his  praise  too  rare  and  too  cold.  In 
this,  as  in  other  things,  the  influence  of  the  occupation 
he  had  long  followed  is  discernible  in  his  manner  of 
thinking  and  writing.  The  drudgery  of  teaching  had 
doubtless  worn  upon  a  temperament  naturally  sensitive, 
and  put  the  fine  chords  of  feeling  a  little  out  of  tune. 
But  we  see  the  good  effects  of  the  discipline  he  had 

VOL.  ii.  26 


402  JOSEPH    FORSYTE. 

passed  through  in  the  sharp  distinctness  of  his  know- 
ledge, the  emphatic  decision  of  his  judgment,  the  un- 
failing obedience  of  his  memory,  and  the  clearness  and 
accuracy  of  his  style.  He  writes  like  a  man  who  had 
acquired  a  keen  distate  for  extravagance,  exaggeration, 
and  rhetorical  flourishes,  by  having  been  obliged  to  en- 
dure and  correct  so  much  of  them  in  the  exercises  of 
his  pupils.  His  style  is  indeed  admirable;  vigorous, 
pointed,  and  condensed ;  sharp  as  steel  and  clear  as 
crystal ;  and  sometimes  charming  and  surprising  his 
reader  by  an  uncommon  felicity  of  phrase.  Occa- 
sionally, too,  there  slips  from  the  guarded  and  self- 
watchful  man  an  expression  which  reveals  warmth  and 
depth  of  feeling,  and  a  genuine  sensibility  to  beauty. 
Though  his  book  has  but  few  personal  records,  it  leaves 
upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  a  most  favorable  impres- 
sion of  the  character  of  the  writer.  We  can  easily 
believe  that  Forsyth  was  a  man  whom  every  body  must 
have  respected,  and  whom  many  may  have  loved.  A 
few  brief  extracts  will  illustrate  the  peculiarities  of 
his  style  and  manner.  While  in  Florence  he  went 
out  to  Fiesole,  and  describes  with  genuine  feeling  the 
rare  assemblage  of  beautiful  objects  which  greets  the 
eye  from  its  airy  height.  His  poetical  emotions  were 
interrupted  by  an  old  peasant,  who  addressed  to  his 
companion  some  words  of  admiration  upon  the  fine 
prospect  and  the  numerous  farms  and  vineyards,  end- 
ing with  saying,  '  But,  after  all,  none  of  it  belongs  to 
us.'  Upon  this,  Forsyth  remarks,  '  Those  notes  of  ex- 
clamation end  in  a  selfishness  peculiar  to  age.  There 
is  generally  something  sordid  at  the  bottom  of  the 
bucket  which  old  men  throw  on  admiration.' 


JOSEPH   FORSYTE.  403 

How  pointed,  yet  how  true,  are  his  observations 
upon  the  Colosseum  :  '  As  it  now  stands,  the  Colos- 
seum is  a  striking  image  of  Rome  itself — decayed  — 
vacant  —  serious  —  yet  grand  —  half  gray  and  half 
green  —  exact  on  one  side  and  fallen  on  the  other  — 
with  consecrated  ground  in  its  bosom  —  inhabited  by  a 
beadsman  ;  visited  by  every  cast ;  for  moralists,  anti- 
quaries, painters,  architects,  devotees,  all  meet  here 
to  meditate,  to  examine,  to  draw,  to  measure,  and  to 
pray.' 

How  beautiful  and  picturesque  is  his  account  of  the 
illumination  of  the  interior  of  St.  Peter's  by  the  lighted 
cross  at  Easter: 

'  No  architecture  ever  surpassed  in  effect  the  interior  of 
this  pile  when  illuminated  at  Easter  by  a  single  cross  of 
lamps.  The  immediate  focus  of  glory  —  all  the  gradations 
of  light  and  darkness  —  the  fine  or  the  fantastic  accidents  of 
this  cliiaro-scuro  —  the  projection  of  fixed  or  moving  shadows 
—  the  sombre  of  the  deep  perspectives  —  the  multitude  kneel- 
ing round  the  Pope  —  the  groups  in  the  distant  aisles  —  what 
a  world  of  pictures  for  men  of  art  to  copy  or  combine  !  What 
fancy  was  ever  so  dull,  or  so  disciplined,  or  so  worn,  as  to 
resist  the  enthusiasm  of  such  a  scene  !  ' 

His  description  of  Tivoli  is  animated  and  striking  : 

'  The  hill  of  Tivoli  is  all  over  picture.  The  city,  the 
villas,  the  ruins,  the  rocks,  the  cascades  in  the  foreground  ; 
the  Sabine  hills,  the  three  Monticelli,  Soracte,  Frascati,  the 
Campagna,  and  Rome  in  the  distance;  these  form  a  succes- 
sion of  landscapes  superior,  in  the  light  produced,  to  the 
richest  cabinet  of  Claude's.  Tivoli  cannot  be  described  ;  no 
true  portrait  of  it  exists  ;  they  are  poetical  translations  of  the 
matchless  original.  Indeed,  when  you  come  to  detail  the 
hill,  some  defect  of  harmony  will  ever  be  found  in  the  fore- 


404 


MADAME    DE    STAEL. 


ground  or  distance,  something  in  the  swell  or  channelling  of 
its  sides,  something  in  the  growth  or  the  grouping  of  its  trees, 
which  painters,  referring  every  object  to  its  effect  on  canvas, 
will  often  condemn  as  bad  nature.  In  fact:  the  beauties  of 
landscape  are  all  accidental.  Nature,  intent  on  more  impor- 
tant ends,  does  nothing  exclusively  to  please  the  eye.  No 
stream  flows  exactly  as  the  artist  would  wish  it ;  he  wants 
mountains  when  he  finds  only  hills;  he  wants  hills,  when  he 
finds  a  plain.  Nature  gives  him  but  scattered  elements  ;  the 
composition  is  his  own.' 

What  traveller  will  not  confirm  from  his  own  recol- 
lection and  experience  the  following  reflections  ? 

'  We  make  the  tour  of  Italy  as  we  make  the  circuit  of  a 
gallery.  We  set  out  determined  to  let  nothing  escape  us 
unexamined,  and  thus  we  waste  our  attention,  while  it  is 
fresh,  on  the  first  objects,  which  are  not  generally  the  best. 
On  advancing  we  are  dazzled  with  excellence  and  fatigued 
with  admiration.  We  can  take,  however,  but  a  certain  dose 
of  this  pleasure  at  a  time,  and  at  length  when  the  eye  is 
saturated  with  picture,  we  begin  to  long  for  the  conclusion, 
and  we  run  through  the  last  rooms  with  a  rapid  glance.' 


MADAME    DE    STAEL. 

The  '  Corinne '  of  Madame  de  Stael  is  the  most 
popular,  and,  in  some  respects,  the  most  remarkable 
book  that  has  ever  been  written  upon  Italy,  or  inspired 
by  it.  Her  father,  always  to  her  an  object  of  pas- 
sionate love  and  idolatrous  reverence,  had  died  in 
April,  1804,  and  her  journey  into  Italy,  of  which 
'  Corinne '  was  the  result,  was  taken  rather  to  divert 
her  vehement  and  consuming  grief  by  new  scenes  and 
the  fatigues  and  occupations  of  travel,  than  from  any 


MADAME    DE    STAEL.  405 

strong,  original  attraction  towards  the  country  and  its 
peculiar  objects  of  interest.  The  love  of  nature  was 
never  a  decided  feeling  with  her ;  and  it  was  not  until 
her  heart  had  been  softened  by  this  great  sorrow,  that 
the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  outward  world  made 
much  impression  upon  her.  Nor  had  she  paid  much 
attention  to  art,  in  any  of  its  forms  or  departments. 
Indeed,  minds  of  such  original  power  as  hers,  which 
have  within  themselves  the  inexhaustible  fountains  of 
genius  to  draw  from,  rarely  submit  to  the  patient  study 
and  prolonged  examination  which  are  indispensable  to 
a  thorough  comprehension  of  the  arts  of  sculpture  and 
painting.  Their  time  may  be  better  spent  in  creation 
than  in  analysis  and  criticism  ;  in  the  production  of 
new  forms  of  beauty  rather  than  in  the  observation  of 
those  which  other  minds  have  given  birth  to.  Men  of 
genius  are  more  apt  to  feel  art  than  to  understand  it ; 
and  they  sometimes  mistake  the  emotions  which  a  work 
of  art  calls  forth,  for  essential  characteristics  of  the 
work  itself.  The  melancholy  exhaustion  of  grief  made 
the  mind  of  Madame  de  Stael  comparatively  passive 
and  receptive,  and  thus  more  disposed  to  return  a  faith- 
ful image  of  Italy.  In  her  ordinary  state,  her  vivid, 
powerful,  and  creative  genius  would  have  subdued  to 
its  own  essence  all  external  objects,  and  the  book 
which  she  would  have  written  would  have  been  to 
Italy  what  satin  is  to  the  mulberry  leaf.  She  had  the 
advantage  of  being  attended  in  her  tour  by  her  friend 
Schlegel,a  man  of  brilliant  powers,  thoroughly  instruct- 
ed in  literature  and  art,  who  could  supply  to  her  rapid 
and  discursive  glance,  that  accurate  knowledge  and 
careful  observation  which  she  needed.  Many  of  her 


406  MADAME    DE    STAEL. 

eloquent  and  striking  reflections  upon  ancient  and  mod- 
ern art,  were  undoubtedly  the  growth  and  expansion 
of  ideas  originally  suggested  by  this  accomplished 
German. 

The  great  and  lasting  popularity  of  '  Corinne  '  ren- 
ders it  superfluous  to  dwell  at  any  length  upon  its 
characteristic  excellences,  or  to  quote  from  its  inspired 
pages.  Indeed,  it  would  be  doing  the  author  injustice, 
to  give  to  her  eloquent  conceptions  the  garb  of  any 
other  language  than  that  in  which  she  had  clothed 
them.  Her  prose  is  absolutely  untranslatable.  To 
say  nothing  of  her  many  felicities  of  phrase  which 
dissolve  as  soon  as  they  are  touched,  there  is  a  certain 
declamatory  recitative  in  the  movement  of  her  periods, 
which  suits  the  genius  of  the  French  tongue,  but  sounds 
strained  and  affected  in  English. 

The  plan  of  the  work,  combining  a  romantic  love- 
story  with  pictures  of  Italian  life,  manners,  and  scenery, 
was  a  most  happy  thought,  and  gave  full  scope  to  all 
the  writer's  powers.  The  birth,  growth,  and  tragical 
close  of  a  mutual  attachment  between  two  highly  en- 
dowed beings,  upon  the  soil  of  Italy,  where  every 
passion  felt  by  susceptible  natures  becomes  at  once 
more  intense  and  more  exalted,  was  a  theme  pecu- 
liarly suited  to  Madame  de  Stael's  genius,  so  imagina- 
tive and  at  the  same  time  so  craving  the  support  of 
love  and  sympathy.  In  the  execution,  also,  there 
is  so  much  of  grace,  power,  and  feeling,  that  all  de- 
fects of  detail  are  overlooked.  We  forget  the  improb- 
abilities of  the  story  ;  we  pardon  the  want  of  incident ; 
we  forbear  to  ask  if  Corinne  be  a  possible  being,  or  if, 
being  possible,  she  could  have  so  loved  such  a  forcible 
Feeble  as  Oswald. 


MADAME    DE    STAEL.  407 

c  Corinne '  is  certainly  a  work  of  extraordinary  beau- 
ty;  caplivating  the  young  by  its  impassioned  sentiment, 
its  glowing  eloquence,  its  rich  tone  of  color,  and  its 
tender  melancholy ;  and  attracting  those  who  are  no 
longer  young  by  the  accuracy  of  its  observations  upon 
soical  life  and  manners,  and  the  profound  knowledge 
of  the  human  heart  which  it  reveals.  The  chapters 
which  are  devoted  to  the  ruins,  the  edifices,  and  the 
works  of  art  in  .Rome,  are  not,  it  seems  to  me,  the 
finest  portions  of  the  book,  though  probably  they  cost 
the  writer  the  most  pains  in  the  preparation.  They 
are  eloquent  and  striking,  but  too  elaborate  and  want- 
ing in  repose.  The  objects  which  she  describes  are 
lost  in  the  crowd  of  reflections  which  they  call  forth ; 
and  the  mind's  eye  is  dazzled  and  blinded  by  the  bril- 
liant light  which  is  poured  upon  it.  She  seems  to 
write  from  recollection,  rather  than  from  observation  ; 
making  the  objects  she  saw  points  of  departure  rather 
than  themes.  She  theorizes  but  does  not  describe,  and 
gives  us  speculation  instead  of  detail.  But  her  specu- 
lations are  original  and  striking,  and  her  theories  charm, 
if  they  do  not  convince.  The  ruins  of  Rome,  inter- 
preted by  the  voice  and  glance  of  '  Corinne,'  start  into 
life,  and  the  heart  of  antiquity  throbs  anew  under  the 
creative  touch  of  love. 

The  passages  descriptive  of  Italian  character  and  the 
social  life  and  manners  of  the  people,  though  less  am- 
bitious, are  at  least  equal  in  literary  merit  to  those  in 
which  ruins  and  works  of  art  are  discussed.  They  are 
in  every  way  admirable ;  remarkable  alike  for  the 
noble  generosity  of  their  tone,  their  vigorous  grasp,  and 
their  delicate  and  feminine  observation.  They  awaken 


408  MADAME    DE    STAEL. 

a  feeling  of  strong  admiration  for  the  writer ;  and  it 
warms  and  strengthens  the  heart  to  see  a  person  of  so 
much  genius  so  free  from  prejudice,  narrowness,  and 
bitterness ;  so  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  most  finished 
forms  of  social  life,  and  yet  so  loyal  to  truth  and  so 
sensitive  to  the  touch  of  the  noblest  sentiments.  These 
portions  of  '  Corinne  '  seem  the  most  natural  and  spon- 
taneous of  the  work ;  those  in  which  the  writer's  mind 
poured  itself  forth  most  freely  and  with  the  least  effort. 
The  warmly  sympathetic  and  feminine  nature  of 
Madame  de  Stael  —  and  though  she  had  masculine 
powers  there  never  was  a  more  truly  feminine  nature 
than  hers  —  craved  companionship  and  sympathy  ;  and 
her  genius,  various  as  it  was,  was  never  more  striking- 
ly and  successfully  displayed  than  in  painting  and 
analyzing  the  movements  of  the  human  heart  and  the 
human  mind  as  modified  by  the  customs  and  usages 
of  society. 

The  sketches  of  Naples  and  its  neighborhood  seem 
to  have  more  of  the  charm  of  natural  expression  than 
the  lofty  declamations  upon  the  ruins  of  Rome.  The 
gay  and  smiling  aspect  of  Naples,  and  the  joyous 
pulse  of  life  which  beats  there,  may  have  more  soothed 
and  stirred  a  heart  too  much  oppressed  by  sorrow  to 
bear  the  melancholy  desolation  of  Rome.  Naples  is 
the  place  for  those  who  wish  to  escape  from  grief,  and 
not  Rome  :  the  latter  may  lighten  the  pain,  but  the 
former  extracts  the  dart.  Nothing  can  surpass  the 
splendor  as  well  as  the  fidelity  of  her  descriptions  of 
that  whole  enchanting  region  —  the  forms  of  the  land- 
scape, the  aspects  of  the  vegetable  world,  the  streets 
and  population  of  Naples,  and  the  mingled  beauty 


MADAME    DE    STAEL.  409 

and  desolation  of  its  neighborhood.  The  contrasts 
which  are  there  assembled ;  the  loveliness  and  fer- 
tility illumined  by  the  ghastly  funeral  torch  of  Vesu- 
vius—  the  remains  of  Roman  luxury  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bay.  in  the  midst  of  a  region  scarred  and  black- 
ened by  elemental  strife  —  took  powerful  hold  of  an 
imagination  like  hers ;  and  the  colors  which  burn  and 
glow  upon  her  pages  are  not  inferior  to  those  of  the 
living  scenes. 

The  'Corinne'  of  Madame  de  Stael,  and  the  '  Re- 
marks '  of  Forsyth  may  be  set  in  contrast  with  each 
other,  like  the  impressions  which  Italy  made  upon 
Goethe  and  Chateaubriand  respectively.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible for  two  books,  inspired  by  the  same  theme,  to  be 
more  unlike  :  one  is  all  accuracy,  point,  and  precision  ; 
the  other,  all  sentiment,  imagination,  and  enthusiasm  ; 
one  is  a  map,  and  the  other  a  landscape.  They  re- 
semble each  other  as  an  outline  by  Flaxmann  resembles 
a  picture  by  Giorgione.  Each  is  the  complement  of 
the  other  ;  and  between  them  the  whole  circle  of  Italy 
is  rounded.  Combining  the  two,  we  have  Roman  draw- 
ing and  Venetian  coloring  ;  and  there  can  nothing  be 
had  on  earth  better  than  these.  In  the  smallest  port- 
able library  which  the  intelligent  tourist  takes  into  Italy 
or  collects  there,  both  these  books  should  find  a  place  ; 
one  for  its  fidelity  of  form,  and  the  other  for  the  kin- 
dling power  of  its  genius  ;  one  fashioning  the  statue, 
and  the  other  waking  it  to  life  by  a  touch. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Travellers  in  Italy  and  writers  on  Italy,  concluded  —  Eustace  —  Matthews  — 
Lady  Morgan  —  Shelley  —  Lord  Byron  —  Rogers  —  Miss  Eaton.  John  Bell. 
William  Stewart  Rose  —  Andersen  —  Mrs.  Kemble  —  Spalding.  Murray. 


JOHN    CHETWODE    EUSTACE. 

EUSTACE  was  a  Catholic  priest  who  went  to  Italy  in 
1801,  as  travelling  companion  to  two  young  gentlemen 
of  fortune,  and  published  an  account  of  his  tour  in 
1813,  under  the  title  of  '  A  Classical  Tour  through 
Italy.'  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  learning,  after 
the  English  school,  and  was  especially  well  acquainted 
with  the  authors  of  Rome,  both  in  prose  and  verse. 
Every  thing  which  he  serves  up  is  garnished  with  quo- 
tations, but  they  are  generally  apposite  and  often  new. 
Although  a  sincere  and  devoted  Catholic,  he  was  also  a 
thorough,  not  to  say  prejudiced  Englishman,  and  he 
hated  France  and  Frenchmen,  as  if  there  had  been  a 
special  commandment  to  that  effect  in  the  decalogue. 
He  looks  upon  the  French  nation  as  the  enemies  of 
religion,  liberty,  and  the  arts  ;  and  his  feelings  as  a 
clergyman,  an  Englishman  and  a  scholar,  are  equally 
aroused  against  them.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  truly 


JOHN    CHETWODE    EUSTACE.  411 

amiable  man,  but  where  France  is  concerned,  we  miss 
not  only  his  usual  mildness  of  judgment,  but  the  usually 
cautious  and  inquiring  habit  of  his  mind.  Every  thing 
is  taken  on  trust  which  is  disparaging  to  that  country 
and  its  people,  and  no  story  can  be  too  monstrous  for 
his  credulity  which  is  to  their  discredit.  But  in  justice 
to  Eustace,  and  to  many  others  of  his  countrymen  who 
have  left  similar  sentiments  on  record,  it  should  be 
said,  that  this  hatred  drew  much  of  its  energy  from  a 
fear  which  they  were  too  proud  to  confess.  And  no 
one,  who  looks  back  upon  the  history  of  that  period, 
can  wonder  at  it.  Bonaparte  was  so  extraordinary  a 
phenomenon  —  his  character  and  career  were  so  un- 
precedented —  his  progress  and  success  were  so  fear- 
ful —  he  broke  in  upon  the  conventional  monotony  of 
history  so  like  a  comet  upon  the  regular  orbits  of  the 
solar  system  —  that  we  cannot  feel  surprised  that  he 
should  have  been  looked  upon  as  something  super- 
natural and  demoniac,  against  whom  all  mortal  re- 
sources were  as  unavailing  as  against  the  power  of 
lightnings  or  earthquakes. 

The  '  Classical  Tour  '  attained  great  and  immediate 
popularity.  It  commended  itself  by  its  ripe  English 
scholarship,  its  hearty  English  prejudices,  by  a  style  of 
considerable  dignity  and  elegance,  and  a  truly  gentle- 
manly tone  of  feeling  —  for  Eustace  was  a  gentleman 
as  well  as  a  scholar,  and  is  never  scurrilous  or  vulgar 
even  in  the  expression  of  his  distaste  and  ill-will.  It 
was  for  a  time  valued  beyond  its  deserts,  and  a  certain 
reaction  necessarily  took  place  ;  and  when  criticism  was 
turned  against  it,  many  vulnerable  points  were  found 
open  to  attack.  Besides  the  prejudices,  national  and 


412  JOHN    CHETWODE    EUSTACE. 

theological,  with  which  its  pages  bristled,  it  was  found 
to  swarm  with  inaccuracies  of  detail.  This  last  defect 
arose  probably,  in  part,  from  the  long  interval  between 
the  date  of  the  journey  and  the  publication  of  the  tour. 
Having  been  once  much  overvalued,  it  is  now  unrea- 
sonably undervalued.  It  is  not,  and  never  was  meant 
to  be  a  guide-book,  but  it  certainly  may  be  read  with 
pleasure  and  profit,  either  before  going  to  Italy,  or 
after  returning  from  it ;  especially  the  latter.  The 
scholar  will  not  object  to  the  profusion  of  beautiful  pas- 
sages in  Latin  prose  and  verse  which  are  poured 
around  the  scenes  which  he  visited,  nor  can  any  right- 
minded  reader  fail  to  respect  the  pure  morality  of  the 
writer,  and  the  manly  frankness  with  which  he  main- 
tains his  religious  convictions.  Lord  Byron,  in  a  note 
to  the  fourth  Canto  of  Childe  Harold,  has  made  a 
sweeping  attack  upon  the  '  Classical  Tour '  ;  but  his 
Lordship  should  have  remembered  that  in  a  charac- 
teristic criticism  upon  Mitford's  History  of  Greece,  he 
had  enumerated  '  wrath  and  partiality  '  as  among  its 
merits.  Eustace's  tour  has  a  kindred  excellence  ;  that 
is  to  say,  it  abounds  with  honest  expressions  of  honest 
prejudices.  It  is  a  truthful  book,  and  stamped  with 
marked  individual  character.  There  is  always  a  cer- 
tain pleasure  in  reading  works  of  this  class,  irrespec- 
tive of  their  merely  literary  merit.  Their  flavor  is 
positive,  if  not  fine.  We  are  sure  that  we  are  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  author's  mind,  such  as  it  is.  We 
should  have  put  Eustace  higher  upon  the  scale  of  wri- 
ters and  thinkers,  if  he  had  been  less  prejudiced,  but  it 
is  by  no  means  certain  that  the  '  Classical  Tour '  would 
have  been  a  more  readable  book,  if  it  were  entirely 


JOHN    CHETWODE    EUSTACE.  413 

free  from  those  strong  expressions  of  personal  and  pro- 
fessional feeling  which  sometimes  call  forth  a  smile  at 
their  extravagance. 

Speaking  of  Boccaccio,  Eustace  says,  'Of  Boccaccio, 
the  modern  Petronius,  we  say  nothing ;  the  abuse  of 
genius  is  more  odious  and  more  contemptible  than  its 
absence,  and  it  little  imports  where  the  impure  remains 
of  a  licentious  author  are  consigned  to  their  kindred 
dust.'  He  has  been  sharply  taken  to  task  for  this 
severe  judgment  upon  an  eminent  name  in  literature, 
and  it  would  perhaps  have  been  more  discreet  to  have 
said  nothing,  where  he  must  have  censured  if  he  spoke 
at  all.  But,  being  a  Catholic  and  a  clergyman,  he 
could  not  have  written  of  Boccaccio  with  admiration, 
without  forfeiting  his  own  claims  to  respect  even  in  the 
eyes  of  a  Protestant  and  a  layman.  Being  a  priest,  he 
could  not  think  well  of  Boccaccio  ;  or  thinking  well  of 
Boccaccio,  he  could  not  be  a  priest.  The  man  who  is 
false  to  his  own  proclaimed  standard  is  contemptible 
even  in  the  judgment  of  the  wicked. 

A  single  quotation  from  Eustace,  of  some  length,  is 
all  that  I  shall  make.  Speaking  of  the  habit  of  the 
people  near  Naples  to  build  new  houses  on  the  very 
spots  laid  waste  by  the  eruptions  of  Vesuvius,  he  says : 

'  A  French  traveller,  who  noticed  this  persevering  spirit 
some  years  ago,  attributes  it  to  the  blindness  and  folly  of  the 
human  race,  and  very  ingeniously,  and  at  the  same  time  much 
to  the  credit  of  his  species,  compares  them  to  ants,  which 
never  fail  to  repair  their  nests  how  often  soever  they  may  be 
ravaged  and  crumbled  to  pieces.  Addison  observed,  near  a 
century  ago,  that  even  in  his  time  the  principal  object  of  some 
French  writers  seemed  to  be,  to  degrade  and  vilify  human 


414  JOHN    CHETWODE    EUSTACE. 

nature ;  and  since  that  period,  whole  swarms  of  declaimers 
and  sophists  have  risen  in  succession,  to  provoke  and  justify 
a  more  extensive  application  of  the  remark.  The  English 
nation,  much  to  its  credit,  differs  in  this  respect,  as  indeed  in 
many  others,  very  widely  from  its  rival  neighbors,  and  is 
united  with  the  wise,  the  good,  the  great,  of  all  ages  and 
countries,  in  a  glorious  confederacy  to  support  the  dignity 
and  the  grandeur  of  our  common  nature.  In  opposition, 
therefore,  to  the  sagacious  president,  we  may  venture  to 
praise  the  inhabitants  of  Torre  del  Greco,  and  consider  their 
perseverance,  which,  undismayed  by  the  most  tremendous 
disasters,  still  pursues  its  object,  as  a  sublime  sentiment  that 
indicates  the  greatness  of  man,  and  displays  at  once  his 
courage  and  his  resources.  -  Camillus  preferred  a  cottage, 
amid  the  ruins  of  Rome,  still  smoking  after  the  Gallic  con- 
flagration, to  the  palaces  of  Veii ;  arid  the  natives  of  this 
town  prefer  their  country,  though  on  the  verge  of  a  fiery 
abyss,  to  a  secure  but  foreign  mansion.  We  applaud  the 
patriotism  of  the  former;  why  should  we  not  praise  the  spirit 
of  the  latter  ?' 

In  this  characteristic  paragraph  we  have  not  only  a 
specimen  of  Eustace's  own  prejudices,  but  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  follies  and  inconsistencies  into  which  all  men 
fall  when  they  give  themselves  over  to  the  guidance  of 
prejudice.  The  French  traveller  whom  he  cites  is  the 
President  Dupaty,  who  makes  the  comparison  about 
the  ants,  on  occasion  of  a  visit  to  Pompeii.  Surely, 
his  illustration  does  not  deserve  such  solemn  and  pro- 
longed rebuke  ;  and  still  less  does  the  tenacity  with 
which  those  people  cling  to  the  roots  of  a  burning  moun- 
tain justify  the  commendation  bestowed  upon  it.  Most 
travellers  would  ascribe  the  strength  of  this  local  attach- 
ment, not  to  any  elevated  sentiment,  but  to  indolence, 


HENRY    MATTHEWS.  415 

want  of  enterprise,  and  a  stupid,  Mohammedan  fatalism, 
and  would  look  upon  the  sneer  of  Dupaty  as  being  quite 
as  near  the  truth,  to  say  the  least,  as  the  glorification  of 
Eustace.  The  analogy  between  Camillus  and  his  com- 
patriots and  the  cottagers  that  sleep  on  the  edge  of  a 
fiery  abyss,  would  be  pertinent  if  invasions  were  gov- 
erned by  the  same  laws  as  volcanic  eruptions. 

As  to  his  hasty  and  illiberal  remarks  upon  the  char- 
acter and  tendency  of  French  literature,  it  is  curious  to 
observe  that  the  leading  French  writers  of  his  time 
were  Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateaubriand  ;  both  re- 
markable for  their  ideal  views  of  humanity  and  the 
exalted  tone  of  their  minds  ;  and  as  to  the  sweeping 
praise  of  English  literature  in  this  regard,  it  is  enough 
to  ask  Eustace  to  name  any  French  writer,  holding  the 
high  rank  of  Swift  in  English  literature,  who  has  ever 
vilified  and  degraded  humanity  in  so  foul  and  atrocious 
a  manner,  as  he  has  done  in  his  Voyage  to  the  land  of 
the  Houyhnhnms.  French  literature  is  not  without 
sin,  but  England  is  not  exactly  in  the  position  to  cast 
the  first  stone. 

HENRY     MATTHEWS. 

Matthews,  the  author  of  '  The  Diary  of  an  Invalid,' 
was  in  Italy  in  1817  and  1818.  His  tour,  which  em- 
braced also  Portugal,  Switzerland,  and  France,  was 
taken  in  pursuit  of  health.  He  was  a  man  of  consid- 
erable cultivation  and  scholarship,  sharp  faculties  of 
observation,  a  quick  sense  both  of  the  beautiful  and  the 
ludicrous,  and  with  decided,  but  not  excessive  English 
prejudices.  His  journal  betrays  at  times  the  languor, 


416  LADY    MORGAN. 

as  well  as  the  sensitiveness  of  ill-health.  Its  chief 
merits,  which  gave  it  immediate  and  extensive  popu- 
larity, consist  in  its  light,  airy,  and  graceful  style,  its 
natural,  but  not  offensive  revelations  of  personal  feeling, 
and  its  gentlemanly  tone.  He  is  never  profound  or 
original,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  never  labored  or  af- 
fected. The  records  of  the  hour  and  the  impressions 
made  by  every  object  and  experience  are  honestly  set 
down.  He  often  falls  into  a  careless  felicity  of  phrase, 
as,  when  speaking  of  Guido  and  Carlo  Dolce,  he  says, 
'  The  pictures  of  the  first  have  been  termed  the  honey, 
and  those  of  the  last  may  perhaps  be  called  the  treacle 
of  painting.'  His  Diary  is  still  a  very  pleasant  book 
for  after-dinner  reading,  not  rousing  the  faculties,  or 
engaging  the  attention  too  deeply,  but  skimming  grace- 
fully over  the  subject,  and  causing  a  variety  of  agreea- 
ble pictures  to  glide  before  the  eye  and  the  mind.* 

LADY    MORGAN. 

Lady  Morgan's  '  Italy '  was  the  record  of  an  extended 
tour  in  that  country  in  1819  and  1820.  Unquestion- 
ably, it  was  the  book  which  prompted  the  tour,  and  not 
the  tour  which  gave  birth  to  the  book.  It  was  a  journey 
in  three  volumes,  and  probably  the  bargain  with  the 
publisher  was  concluded  before  her  trunks  were  packed. 
Her  Ladyship  is  a  writer  of  a  vigorous  and  masculine 
understanding,  with  a  considerable  amount  of  historical 

*  Matthews  is,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  earliest  English  author 
who  speaks  of  the  celebrated  Paganini,  whom  he  heard  in 
Rome,  and  whose  fame  had  not  then  gone  beyond  the  Italian 
peninsula. 


LADY    MORGAN.  417 

reading ;  much  of  which,  however,  seems  to  have  been 
gotten  up  for  the  occasion,  -and  to  be  the  result  of  dili- 
gent cramming.  Her  historic  sketches  leave  the  im- 
pression that  she  tells  therein  all  that  she  knows ;  and 
she  sometimes  announces  familiar  facts  as  if  they  were 
new  discoveries.  She  is  independent  in  her  views 
and  fearless  in  the  expression  of  them  ;  a  warm,  if 
not  always  a  wise  friend  of  liberty ;  humane  in  her 
disposition,  and  filled  with  generous  indignation  at  the 
oppressions  of  the  strong  and  the  sufferings  of  the 
weak;  sympathetic  in  her  nature,  and  readily  assimi- 
lating herself  to  the  persons  among  whom  she  is 
thrown.  She  observes  accurately,  and  describes  fairly, 
the  character  and  peculiarities  of  such  portion  of  the 
Italian  people  as  she  saw  with  unprejudiced  eyes. 
Her  style  is  forcible,  but  too  elaborate  and  artificial, 
and  too  constantly  aiming  at  points  and  brilliant  turns. 
In  the  noble  art  of  book-making  she  is  a  great  proficient. 
History,  philosophy,  speculation,  sketches  of  society 
and  manners,  remarks  on  the  fine  arts,  descriptions  of 
scenery,  succeed  each  other  in  her  pages,  and  offer  a 
varied  entertainment,  at  which  every  taste  may  find 
something  to  feed  upon.  She  has  much  of  that  taste 
for  humor  common  among  the  Irish,  but  she  sometimes 
introduces  it  unseasonably,  and  passes  from  grave  to 
gay  with  an  abruptness  of  transition  for  which  her 
readers  are  not  quite  prepared.  Her  radicalism  is  not 
of  the  most  austere  and  unbending  kind  ;  and  the  com- 
placency with  which  she  records  the  social  attentions 
paid  to  her  by  noble  and  titled  personages  is  some- 
times in  amusing  contrast  with  the  energy  of  her 
political  declamations. 
VOL.  11.  27 


418  LADY    MORGAN. 

The  defects  of  her  work  —  its  defects  of  substance, 
that  is  —  arise  in  a  great  measure  from  her  strong 
Anglican  and  Protestant  prejudices,  and  her  want  of 
imagination  and  refinement.  She  has  an  intolerant 
hatred  of  kings  and  priests  in  general,  and  the  Medici 
family  in  particular  ;  and  she  proclaims  it  in  season 
and  out  of  season.  She  judges  the  institutions  and 
governments  of  Italy,  not  so  much  by  what  they  have 
and  are,  as  by  what  they  have  not  and  are  not.  She 
is  jusly  proud  of  the  British  constitution  and  the  bless- 
ings of  regulated  liberty  which  it  ensures,  and  she 
ascribes  the  misery  and  decay  which  meet  her  eyes  in 
Italy,  to  a  corrupt  church  and  despotic  rulers.  She 
forgets  that  nations,  as  well  as  individuals,  have  their 
periods  of  growth,  maturity,  and  decline,  and  that  there 
are  many  elements  that  have  conspired  to  produce  the 
present  unhappy  condition  of  Italy  which  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  religion  or  politics  of  the  country.  Not 
that  she  is  not  often  right.  On  the  contrary,  a  Protest- 
ant and  a  republican  will  generally  assent  to  her  elo- 
quent and  indignant  comments;  but  she  is  extravagant 
in  degree,  and  often  pushes  her  politics  and  political 
economy  beyond  the  limits  of  reason  as  well  as  good 
taste  ;  as  when  she  says  of  St.  Peter's,  that  to  the  phi- 
lanthropist it '  will  appear  foremost  in  the  causes  which 
have  continued  the  pestilence  of  the  Campagna,  deso- 
lated the  plains  of  Latium,  and  brought  misery,  through 
error,  to  myriads  all  over  the  suffering  world.'  Her 
book  is  a  true  book,  but  it  does  not  contain  the  whole 
truth.  She  does  not  look  at  Italy  from  the  proper 
point  of  view.  English  comfort,  English  neatness, 
and  English  liberty  are  not  there,  but  to  these  wants 


LADY    MORGAN.  419 

she  should  have  made  up  her  mind  before  starting. 
We  should  think  it  unreasonable  in  an  Italian  traveller 
in  England  who  should  complain  that  the  sun  was  not 
bright,  and  that  there  were  no  oranges  growing  in  the 
open  air.  Her  explosions  of  Anglican  and  Protestant 
feeling  provoke  from  M.  Ampere,  a  Frenchman,  a 
Catholic,  and  a  lover  of  art,  some  caustic  criticisms: 

'  That  the  English,  in  entering  Italy,  and  especially  at  the 
commencement  of  a  residence  in  Rome,  should  be  strongly  im- 
pressed with  the  want  of  comfort  and  neatness  in  the  people 
—  that  the  obvious  defects  of  Italian  governments  in  general, 
and  of  the  Papal  government  in  particular,  should  offend  men 
accustomed  to  the  spectacle  of  constitutional  manners  —  and 
that  they  should  express  their  dissatisfaction  with  the  people 
and  the  government  in  energetic  terms  —  is  certainly  very 
natural.  Since  the  days  of  the  whig  Addison,  who,  as  we 
have  seen,  displayed  with  much  pride  in  the  presence  of 
Rome  the  feeling  of  the  political  superiority  of  England, 
almost  all  Englishmen  who  have  followed  him  have  repeated 
the  same  lofty  commonplace.  They  have  a  fair  right  to  have 
this  satisfaction  of  Italy  for  the  blessings  which  she  enjoys 
and  are  denied  to  them  —  such  as  sun,  sky,  climate,  percep- 
tion of  ait  —  but  they  should  not  surrender  themselves  to  a 
too  contemptuous  pity.  From  the  height  of  their  immortal 
constitution,  which  is  beginning  to  totter,  and  of  their  sub- 
lime philanthropy,  which  has  never  found  bread  for  Ireland, 
they  should  not  too  arrogantly  hurl  disdain  or  compassion 
upon  a  noble  city  and  an  admirable  people,  who  would  not 
change  their  ruins  and  their  churches  for  the  manufactures  of 
England,  their  sunshine  for  hydrogen  gas,  the  genius  which 
reared  the  Colosseum  and  St.  Peter's,  carved  the  Laocoon  or 
painted  the  frescoes  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  for  the  industrial 
energy  which  has  constructed  the  steam-engine  or  carried  the 
useful  arts  to  such  perfection,  as  to  have  spun  during  the  last 


420 


LADY    MORGAN. 


fifty  years  a  thread  of  cotton  long  enough  to  stretch  one  hun- 
dred and  forty-two  times  from  the  earth  to  the  sun.' 

It  is  but  repeating  the  criticism  of  M.  Ampere  in 
another  form  to  say,  that  Lady  Morgan  is  wanting  in 
that  imagination  and  poetical  feeling  which  give  such 
charm  to  the  writings  of  Madame  de  Stael  and  Chateau- 
briand upon  Italy.  Her  sketches  are  all  in  the  colors 
of  prose  :  he  present  and  the  practical  hold  sway 
over  her  mind.  She  never  wholly  surrenders  herself 
to  any  fine  or  imaginative  influence,  and  however  pow- 
erfully the  heart  or  the  fancy  may  be  addressed,  she 
never  fails  to  let  fall  some  caustic  comment  or  dispar- 
aging fling,  to  prove  her  cold  self-possession.  The 
display  of  the  illuminated  cross  in  St.  Peter's  during 
Easter  week,  for  instance,  is  described  by  all  travellers 
as  a  most  impressive  spectacle,  acting  upon  the  imagi- 
nation through  the  senses  to  an  extent  almost  unparal- 
leled, warming  the  most  prosaic  bosoms  into  a  glow 
of  unwonted  admiration,  and  filling  the  minds  of  such 
as  are  endowed  with  poetical  sensibility  with  visions  of 
celestial  glory.  But  what  is  the  mood  in  which  Lady 
Morgan  looks  upon  this  sight,  and  what  are  the  im- 
pressions which  it  leaves  upon  her  memory  ?  A  brief 
extract  from  her  description  shall  answer: 

'  The  pious  votarists  on  the  right,  on  the  contrary,  were 
all  true  "  mortal  mixtures  of  earth's  mould  ;  "  and  chuckle- 
headed  princes,  and  ponderous  princesses,  squatted  on  their 
carpets,  like  Indian  pagods,  and  thumped  and  bumped,  and 
crossed  and  groaned  in  vain  ;  none  were  edified  by  their  de- 
votional exercises ;  not  even  the  mailed  soldiery  who  guarded 
them.  The  cardinals  were  the  same  "gallant  gay  Lotha- 
rios "  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  as  in  the  saloon.  They  circu- 


LADY    MORGAN.  421 

lated  the  snuff-box,  shook  their  handkerchiefs,  whispered  their 
remarks,  winked  their  drowsy  lids  before  the  lamps,  and 
yawned  or  blessed  themselves  for  want  of  something  else 
to  do.' 

Supposing  all  this  irreverence  to  have  been  strictly 
true,  which  may  be  fairly  doubted,  what  use  is  there  in 
noticing,  still  less  in  remembering  and  recording  it? 
Every  thing  in  life  has  its  reverse  side.  All  our  earth- 
ly glories  and  pageants  are  attended  with  homely 
elements,  or  unlucky  mischances,  which  a  morbid 
imagination  may  magnify  so  as  to  turn  the  whole  into 
burlesque.  The  slave  in  the  Roman  triumph  embodied 
this  mocking  spirit  of  parody,  but  who  would  volun- 
tarily assume  the  character  ?  The  nobler  the  nature, 
the  more  will  it  overlook  what  was  not  meant  to  be 
seen,  and  forget  what  was  not  meant  to  be  remem- 
bered. 

But  after  all  the  criticisms  to  which  the  '  Italy '  of 
Lady  Morgan  is  open,  there  still  remains  much  that  is 
good  and  much  that  is  true.  There  is  a  masculine 
vigor  in  the  grasp  of  her  understanding,  and  a  mascu- 
line energy  in  her  style.  If  not  always  refined,  she  is 
never  feeble  ;  and  if  her  own  peculiar  views  are  some- 
times obtruded  with  unnecessary  dogmatism,  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  respect  the  frankness  and  courage  of 
her  attitude.  Her  account  of  Bologna  —  a  very  inter- 
esting city,  which  most  persons  hurry  through  without 
stopping,  but  where  she  seems  to  have  spent  a  con- 
siderable time  —  is  at  once  instructive  and  entertaining. 


422 


SHELLEY. 


SHELLEY. 


Shelley  lived  in  Italy  from  the  spring  of  1818  till  his 
melancholy  death  in  the  summer  of  1822.  He  spent  a 
month  at  Milan  and  the  Lake  of  Como ;  thence  passed 
in  succession  to  Pisa,  Leghorn,  the  Baths  of  Lucca, 
Venice,  Este,  Rome,  Naples,  and  back  again  to  Rome. 
The  spring  of  1819  was  passed  in  Rome.  Here  he 
lost  a  son  ;  and  he  and  his  wife  left  the  spot  too  pain- 
fully associated  with  his  image,  and  resided  during  the 
summer  in  a  small  house  near  Leghorn.  The  succeed- 
ing autumn  and  part  of  the  winter  were  spent  in  Flor- 
ence, and  afterwards  he  lived  at  Pisa,  the  Baths  of  San 
Giuliano,  and  Spezzia.  He  was  charmed  with  the  ex- 
ternal face  of  Italy.  Mrs.  Shelley  says,  '  The  aspect  of 
its  nature,  its  sunny  sky,  its  majestic  storms,  of  the 
luxuriant  vegetation  of  the  country,  and  the  noble  cities, 
enchanted  him.  The  sight  of  the  works  of  art  was  full 
of  enjoyment  and  wonder  ;  he  had  not  studied  pictures 
or  statues  before,  but  he  now  did  so  with  the  eye  of 
taste,  that  referred  not  to  the  rules  of  schools,  but  to 
those  of  nature  and  truth.  The  first  entrance  to  Rome 
opened  to  him  a  scene  of  remains  of  ancient  grandeur 
that  far  surpassed  his  expectations  ;  and  the  unspeaka- 
ble beauty  of  Naples  and  its  environs  added  to  the  im- 
pression he  received  of  the  transcendant  and  glorious 
beauty  of  Italy.' 

From  his  shy  and  shrinking  temperament,  he  avoided 
society  and  lived  in  great  seclusion.  He  had  no  ac- 
quaintances among  the  Italians  of  the  higher  class,  and 
saw  very  little  of  those  of  his  own  countrymen  who 
travelled  in  Italy.  And  what  seems  more  singular,  he 


SHELLEY.  423 

was  not  attracted  to  the  rich  and  beautiful  literature  of 
the  people  among  whom  he  lived.  He  read  English, 
Greek,  German,  and  Spanish ;  every  thing  but  Italian. 
His  feeling  for  art  was  fine  and  true,  but  his  knowledge 
of  it  was  superficial ;  nor  does  he  appear  to  have  given 
much  time  to  the  examination  of  the  galleries  of  Rome 
or  Florence.  His  love  of  art  and  his  love  of  books 
were  less  strong  than  his  love  of  nature.  The  former 
were  but  tastes,  the  last  was  a  passion.  He  spent 
much  time  in  the  open  air,  and  his  bodily  and  mental 
health  were  improved  by  it.  The  climate  of  Italy  was 
in  unison  with  his  delicate  organization,  and  even  the 
fierce  heats  of  its  summers,  from  which  every  other 
living  thing  shrank,  gave  him  strength  and  spirits. 

Thus,  in  the  various  works  produced  by  him  while 
residing  in  Italy,  there  is  no  trace  of  any  influence  ex- 
erted upon  his  mind'by  Italian  literature  or  society,  but 
constant  indications  of  the  power  with  which  nature 
acted  upon  him.  The  luxuriant  vegetation  of  Italy, 
its  light  and  richly  colored  atmosphere,  its  sparkling 
seas,  and  the  azure  depth  of  its  clear  sky  seem  to 
have  inspired  the  lavish  and  gorgeous  descriptions  of 
'Prometheus  Unbound,'  'Epipscychidion,'  '  Adonais,' 
and  '  The  Sensitive  Plant.'  In  pure  description  — 
such  as  is  not  warmed  by  passion  or  deepened  by 
philosophical  reflection  —  he  is  a  great  master.  His 
sense  of  color  is  particularly  fine,  and  he  paints  the 
hues  of  a  landscape  or  a  garden  as  Titian  would  paint 
a  purple  mantle  embroidered  with  gold.  With  a  single 
touch,  an  imaginative  epithet,  or  a  happy  expression, 
he  presents  the  peculiar  character  of  Italian  scenery. 
Thus,  in  the  '  Lines  written  among  the  Euganean 


424  SHELLEY. 

hills,'  he  speaks  of  the  '  waveless  plain  of  Lombardy' 
spreading  like  '  a  green  sea,'  and  '  islanded  by  cities 
fair ; '  of  the  towers  of  Venice  '  quivering  through  aerial 
gold  ; '  of  the  '  olive-sandalled  Apennine.'  In  the  same 
poem  he  compares  the  purple  mists  of  an  autumn  noon 
to  a  '  vaporous  amethyst'  —  a  very  beautiful  as  well  as 
just  image.  In  his  '  Ode  to  Naples,'  he  speaks  of  the 
sea  which  bathes  that  enchanting  coast,  as  '  a  plane  of 
light  between  two  heavens  of  azure.' 

In  an  unstudied  effusion,  conversational  in  its  tone, 
called  a  '  Letter  to  Maria  Gisborne,'  he  draws  a  grace- 
ful picture  of  an  Italian  summer  evening  : 

'  Beyond,  the  surface  of  the  unsickled  corn 
Trembles  not  in  the  slumbering  air,  and  borne 
In  circles  quaint,  and  ever-changing  dance, 
Like  winged  stars  the  fireflies  flash  and  glance 
Pale  in  the  open  moonshine ;  but  each  one 
Under  the  darkness  seems  a  little  sun, 
A  meteor  tamed  ;  a  fixed  star  gone  astray 
From  the  silver  regions  of  the  milky-way. 
Afar,  the  Contadino's  song  is  heard,  # 
Rude,  but  made  sweet  by  distance  ;  —  and  a  bird, 
Which  cannot  be  a  nightingale,  and  yet 
I  know  none  else  that  sings  so  sweet  as  it 
At  this  late  hour.' 

He  wrote  the  tragedy  of  '  The  Cenci '  at  Leghorn  in 
the  summer  of  1819.  This  is  the  most  finished  and 
carefully  constructed  of  all  his  poems,  and  is  in  some 
respects  the  highest  production  of  his  genius.  Th^  sub- 
ject is  too  tragical,  or  rather  too  horrible,  for  dramatic 
purposes.  It  lays  upon  the  soul  a  ghastly  and  hideous 
weight  of  unrelieved  guilt  and  suffering  too  heavy  to  be 
borne.  The  characters  also  speculate  and  analyze  too 


SHELLEY.  425 

much,  and  the  flow  of  the  action  is  languid.  But  it  is 
a  wonderful  work  to  have  been  written  by  a  man  of 
twenty-six,  and  it  is  remarkable  for  being  so  free  from 
the  peculiarities  of  his  other  poems.  The  diction  is 
simple  and  unadorned,  without  any  of  that  luxuriant 
and  many-colored  imagery  which  seems  the  natural 
garb  of  his  thoughts.  Were  the  tragedy  now  first  dis- 
covered in  manuscript,  and  did  we  only  know  that  it 
was  written  by  some  one  who  was  alive  in  1819, 
Shelley  is  one  of  the  last  persons  to  whom,  from  the 
internal  evidence  of  his  other  poems,  it  would  be  as- 
signed. In  connection  with  his  early  death,  we  read  it 
with  a  melancholy  interest  as  an  earnest  of  what  he 
might  have  done  had  he  lived  longer,  and,  instead  of 
weaving  airy  webs  of  abstraction,  and  steeping  them 
in  the  gorgeous  hues  of  fancy,  had  sought  his  themes 
in  the  course  of  real  life  and  the  emotions  of  the  com- 
mon heart. 

Admirable,  however,  as  '  The  Cenci '  is,  it  takes 
nothing  from  Italy  but  its  subject.  It  is  a  very  original 
work,  drawn  from  the  depths  of  his  own  heart  and  the 
treasures  of  his  own  mind.  It  might  as  well  have  been 
written  in  London  as  in  Leghorn.  There  is  nothing  in 
it  which  tastes  of  the  soil.  The  influence  of  Italian 
models  is  not  felt,  though  it  is  a  faithful  picture  of 
Italian  society  at  the  time  when  the  scene  is  laid.  But 
the  truth  is  due  to  the  unerring  glance  of  genius,  and 
not  to  the  imitative  faculty.  Great  passions  and  great 
sufferings  are  levelling  principles,  and  obliterate  the 
distinctions  of  birth  and  blood.  Manners  and  costume 
vary,  but  love,  jealousy,  hatred,  and  ambition  bear  the 
same  fruits  in  Greece,  Italy,  and  England. 


426  SHELLEY. 

During  his  residence  in  Italy,  Shelley  described  the 
peculiarities  of  the  country  in  a  series  of  letters  to  his 
friends,  which  were  published  after  his  death.  They 
are  easy  and  graceful  in  style,  and  interesting  as  reve- 
lations of  character.  They  are  as  unlike  as  possible  to 
those  which  his  friend  Byron  was  writing  at.  the  same 
time.  The  latter  are  fierce,  abrupt,  sarcastic,  and 
personal  ;  but  Shelley's  are  gentle,  affectionate,  and 
refined,  shewing  great  domestic  tenderness  and  a  pas- 
sionate love  of  nature.  He  had  no  corner  in  his  heart 
for  hatred  to  lurk  in,  and  his  tone,  whenever  he  speaks 
of  individuals,  is  courteous,  tolerant,  and  forgiving. 
Their  literary  merit  is  not  striking,  but  their  ease, 
transparent  diction,  and  poetical  sensibility  give  them 
a  claim  to  the  honors  of  the  press,  which  they  also  de- 
serve on  higher  grounds  as  illustrations  of  the  life  and 
character  of  so  remarkable  a  man.  They  contain 
passages  of  great  descriptive  beauty,  which  are  all  the 
better  for  their  natural  and  unstudied  simplicity.  In  a 
letter  from  Leghorn,  he  writes  : 

'  I  take  great  delight  in  watching  the  changes  of  the  atmo- 
sphere here,  and  the  growth  of  the  thunder-showers  with 
which  the  noon  is  often  overshadowed,  and  which  break  and 
fade  away  towards  evening  into  flocks  of  delicate  clouds. 
Our  fireflies  are  fading  away  fast,  but  there  is  the  planet 
Jupiter,  who  rises  majestically  over  the  rift  in  the  forest  cov- 
ered mountains  to  the  south,  and  the  pale  summer  lightning 
which  is  spread  out  every  night  at  intervals  over  the  sky. 
No  doubt  Providence  has  contrived  these  things  that,  when 
the  fireflies  go^out,  the  low-flying  owl  may  see  her  way  home.' 

While  in  Venice,  the  aspect  of  the  gondolas  calls 
forth  a  striking  image.  '  The  gondolas  themselves  are 


SHELLEY.  427 

things  of  most  romantic  and  picturesque  appearance. 
I  can  only  compare  them  to  moths,  of  which  a  coffin 
might  have  been  the  chrysalis.' 

His  description  of  the  falls  of  Terni  is  poetical  and 
accurate. 

'  Imagine  a  river  sixty  feet  in  breadth,  with  a  vast  volume 
of  waters,  the  outlet  of  a  great  lake  among  the  higher  moun- 
tains, falling  three  hundred  feet  into  a  sightless  gulf  of  snow- 
white  vapor,  which  bursts  up  for  ever  and  for  ever  from  a 
circle  of  black  crags,  and  thence  leaping  downwards,  made 
five  or  six  other  cataracts,  each  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet  high, 
which  exhibit  on  a  smaller  scale,  and  with  beautiful  and  sub- 
lime variety,  the  same  appearances.  But  words  (and  far  less 
could  painting)  will  not  express  it.  Stand  upon  the  brink  of 
the  platform  of  cliff  which  is  directly  opposite.  You  see  the 
ever-moving  water  stream  down.  It  comes  in  thick  and 
tawny  folds,  flaking  off  like  solid  snow  gliding  down  a  moun- 
tain. It  does  not  seem  hollow  within,  but  without  it  is  une- 
qual, like  the  folding  of  linen  thrown  carelessly  down  ;  your 
eye  follows  it,  and  it  is  lost  below  ;  not  in  the  black  rocks 
which  gird  it  around,  but  in  its  own  foam  and  spray,  in  the 
cloud-like  vapors  boiling  up  from  below,  which  is  not  like 
rain  nor  mist,  nor  spray,  nor  foam,  but  water  in  a  shape 
wholly  unlike  any  thing  I  ever  saw  before.  It  is  as  white  as 
snow,  but  thick  and  impenetrable  to  the  eye.  The  very  im- 
agination is  bewildered  in  it.  A  thunder  comes  up  from  the 
abyss  wonderful  to  hear ;  for,  though  it  ever  sounds,  it  is 
never  the  same,  but,  modulated  by  the  changing  motion, 
rises  and  falls  intermittingly/  * 

*  Byron  has  described  the  falls  of  Terni  in  four  celebrated  stanzas 
of  the  fourth  canto  of  Childe  Harold,  which  are  too  well  known  to 
be  quoted.  His  sketch  and  that  of  Shelley,  above  cited,  shew  in 
what  different  lights  two  great  poets  may  look  at  the  same  thing. 
Shelley  is  more  distinct  and  individual ;  Byron,  more  elaborate  and 


LORD    BYRON. 


LORD    BYRON. 

Lord  Byron  resided  in  Italy  from  the  autumn  of  1816 
to  the  summer  of  1823,  when  he  went  to  Greece.  He 
lived  first  in  Venice,  then  in  Ravenna,  subsequently  in 
Pisa,  and  lastly  in  Genoa.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find 
a  writer  whose  works  contain  so  much  to  admire,  and 
whose  life  presents  so  little  to  respect ;  and  within  the 
period  of  his  residence  in  Italy  are  comprised  the  most 
splendid  creations  of  his  genius  and  the  lowest  degrada- 
tion of  his  character.  In  reading  his  letters  and  jour- 
nal, we  are  disgusted  with  the  passionless  profligacy  of 
his  habits,  from  which  an  escape  into  open  adultery  was 

impassioned.  In  Shelley's  mind  one  visible  object  suggests  another, 
but  Byron  personifies  the  whole  scene,  and  interprets  it  by  epithets 
drawn  from  human  passions  and  emotions.  He  speaks  of  the  'agony,' 
the  'delirious  bound,'  and  the  '  fierce  footsteps '  of  the  waters;  of 
the  '  distracted  waters,  'and  the  '  torture  of  the  scene.'  There  is  a  glit- 
tering animation  and  dazzling  richness  in  Byron's  verses  which  will 
not  allow  the  mind  to  fix  a  searching  glance  upon  them,  but  they 
will  not  bear  a  dissecting  criticism.  They  are  vague  and  indistinct, 
and  will  answer  for  one  waterfall  about  as  well  as  another.  Nor  will 
all  the  images  and  embellishments  be  commended  by  a  stern  taste. 
The  comparison  of  the  foam  dripping  from  the  rocks  to  the  '  sweat 
of  their  agony  '  is  doubtful,  to  say  the  least.  The  rainbow  hovering 
over  the  stream  is  likened  first  to  '  Hope  upon  a  death-bed,'  and 
then  to  '  Love  watching  madness  '  — both  a  little  fantastic  and  far- 
fetched. Shelley's  simple  prose  challenges  no  comparison  with 
Byron's  elaborate  verses,  but  his  outline  is  more  correct  in  drawing 
than  his  noble  friend's  splendidly  colored  picture.  Judging  from  my 
own  impressions  and  recollections,  I  should  say  that  both  were  over- 
stated. The  Velino  is  a  deep  and  rapid  stream,  but  only  about  fifty 
feet  wide.  It  certainly  makes  the  most  of  itself,  hut  when  the 
poet  talks  about  '  the  fountain  of  an  infant  sea,"  and  about  its  '  com- 
ing like  an  eternity  as  if  to  sweep  down  all  things  in  its  track,'  he 
must  have  remembered  more  than  he  saw. 


LORD    BYRON.  429 

hailed  by  his  friends  as  an  absolute  reform  ;  and  we 
feel  a  mixture  of  pity  and  contempt  for  his  wayward- 
ness and  irritability,  his  weak  sensitiveness  to  public 
opinion  constantly  breaking  through  his  affectation  of 
indifference,  his  pride  of  birth  varnished  over  with  a 
coating  of  radicalism,  and  his  real  love  of  money  thinly 
veiled  by  the  lordly  unconcern  of  his  hectoring  epistles 
to  his  publisher  ;  while  a  sterner  feeling  of  reprobation 
is  roused  by  the  savage  ferocity  of  his  hatreds,  and  the 
unwarrantable  language  in  which  he  speaks  of  his  wife. 
But  when  we  turn  to  the  creations  of  bis  genius  during 
this  period,  we  readily  yield  the  highest  admiration  to 
their  number,  their  variety,  and  their  surpassing  excel- 
lence. We  see  proceeding  from  a  profligate  and  de- 
grading life,  a  succession  of  poetical  productions  so  full 
of  beauty  and  originality,  as  to  confound  all  the  notions 
we  have,  or,  at  least,  would  like  to  have,  upoh  the  con- 
nection between  genius  and  moral  worth.  This  will  be 
readily  admitted  when  we  remember  that  while  in  Italy 
he  wrote  the  fourth  canto  of  'Childe  Harold,'  'Beppo,' 
*  Mazeppa,'  '  The  Lament  of  Tasso,'  '  The  Prophecy  of 
Dante,'  all  his  dramas,  and  '  Don  Juan.' 

The  mind  of  Byron  was  both  original  and  imitative. 
He  was  very  susceptible  to  influences  from  without, 
whether  derived  from  books  or  conversation,  and  thus 
his  Italian  experiences  had  much  to  do  in  shaping  the 
channels  in  which  his  genius  flowed.  He  spoke  the 
Italian  language  with  fluency  and  correctness,  and 
could  doubtless  have  written  in  it  if  he  had  chosen  so 
to  do.  He  mingled  to  some  extent,  especially  while  in 
Venice,  in  Italian  society  ;  and  his  sharp  and  correct 
observation  gave  him  accurate  views  of  the  life,  char- 


LORD    BYRON. 

acter,  and  manners  of  the  people.  Without  having 
made  a  thorough  study  of  Italian  literature,  he  had  read 
a  good  deal,  in  his  usual  fitful  and  desultory  manner,  in 
Italian  authors  ;  and  his  memory,  which,  in  his  own 
language,  was  '  wax  to  receive  and  marble  to  retain,' 
and  his  fertile  genius  caused  a  little  reading  to  produce 
in  him  all  the  fruits  of  extended  research.  That  the 
products  of  his  mind  should  be  moulded  and  colored  by 
the  books  which  he  read,  and  the  social  atmosphere 
which  he  breathed,  was  inevitable.  His  '  Beppo  '  is 
the  most  perfect  reproduction  in  English  of  the  gay 
and  laughing  tone  of  Berni  and  Ariosto,  with  here  and 
there  a  sting  of  sharper  satire,  and  a  burst  of  more  pas- 
sionate feeling,  than  we  find  in  the  airy  movements  of 
Italian  genius,  which  flutters  lightly  over  the  surface  of 
things,  without  piercing  to  their  depths.  The  manner 
is  conversational,  and  the  language  the  simple  current 
coin  of  daily  life  ;  but  the  right  word  always  slips  into 
the  right  place,  and  the  strong  English  is  moulded  into 
as  graceful  forms  as  the  soft  Italian.  The  story  is 
nothing  in  itself — a  slight  anecdote  which  might  take 
ten  minutes  in  the  telling  —  but  we  lose  sight  of  this  in 
the  brilliant  description,  the  playful  banter,  the  collo- 
quial grace,  and  sparkling  animation  which  accompany 
it.  In  the  vivid  stanzas  upon  Italy  —  too  well  known 
to  be  quoted  —  which  glow  with  all  Giorgione's  depth 
of  coloring,  he  rises  for  a  moment  into  a  higher  mood, 
and  lets  the  laughing  mask  drop  from  an  impassioned 
brow  ;  and  in  his  brief  and  caustic  sketch  of  London 
literary  society,  there  is  a  momentary  intrusion  of  per- 
sonal feeling  venting  itself  in  a  vehemence  of  sarcasm 
not  in  unison  with  the  rest  of  the  poem. 


LORD  BYRON.  431 

His  two  dramas,  founded  upon  Venetian  history, '  Ma- 
rino Faliero '  and  '  The  Two  Foscari,'  though  certainly 
not  in  the  first  rank  of  his  productions,  are  remarkable 
as  poems,  if  not  as  plays.  They  abound  with  passages 
which  are  stamped  with  all  the  vigor  and  beauty  of  his 
genius.  They  paint  with  great  power  the  dark  and 
heartless  spirit  of  Venetian  tyranny,  and  the  iron  stern- 
ness of  Venetian  patriotism.  They  have  given  to  the 
history  of  Venice  an  interest  unknown  before  to  English 
readers  at  least,  and  the  dethroned  queen  of  the  Adri- 
atic owes  to  the  noble  poet  a  debt  of  gratitude  inferior 
only  to  that  which  is  due  to  Shakespeare. 

'The  Lament  of  Tasso'  and  'The  Prophecy  of  Dante,' 
though  they  treat  of  Italian  themes,  are  not  particularly 
Italian  in  their  spirit.  They  are  striking  poems  —  the 
latter,  especially,  in  which  the  difficult  terza  rima  of 
Dante  is  imitated  with  a  success  which  one  would 
hardly  have  deemed  possible  in  a  language  with  so  little 
ductility  as  the  English,  and  so  much  less  manageable 
in  regard  to  rhymes  than  the  Italian.  They  are  both 
somewhat  personal  in  their  tone.  Byron  found,  or  fan- 
cied that  he  found,  some  points  of  resemblance  between 
the  fortunes  of  both  Dante  and  Tasso  and  his  own,  and 
the  energetic  verses  in  which  he  breathed  forth  warn- 
ings and  lamentations  in  their  names  flowed  from  the 
bitter  fountains  of  sorrow  and  self-reproach  in  his  own 
breast. 

'  Don  Juan,'  the  most  original  and  characteristic  of 
all  his  poems,  and  one  of  the  saddest  revelations  of 
mind  and  character  to  be  found  in  any  literature,  bor- 
rows nothing  from  Italy  but  the  form  of  its  stanza. 
There  is  nothing  in  it  of  the  animal  spirits  and  playful 


432  LORD    BYRON. 

irony  of  Pulci  and  Berni.  It  is  bitter,  impassioned  and 
fierce,  drawn  from  far  deeper  fountains  than  their 
sportive  strains,  and  resembling  them  only  as  the  light- 
ning resembles  the  dancing  streamers  of  an  aurora 
borealis.  It  is  full  of  sparkling  wit,  of  tenderness,  of 
pathos,  of  blistering  satire,  and  especially  of  magnificent 
description ;  but,  over  all  and  through  all,  there  is 
the  sadness  of  a  wounded  spirit,  and  the  desolation  of  a 
heart  scathed  and  blighted  by  its  own  volcanic  passions. 
His  sensibility  is  so  intense,  and  his  mind  is  so  worn 
with  strife,  that  the  tone  of  assumed  gaiety  and  indiffer- 
ence is  ever  running  into  defiance  and  denunciation, 
and  his  wild  laughter  ends  in  a  hollow  sound  which 
seems  half  a  curse  and  half  a  groan.  It  is  a  poem 
which  has  no  precedent,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  find 
no  imitator. 

The  fourth  canto  of  '  Childe  Harold,'  generally  es- 
teemed the  most  finished  and  beautiful  of  his  works,  is 
the  most  deeply  penetrated  with  the  spirit  of  Italy.  It 
is  indeed  a  translation  of  Italy  into  the  noblest  verse. 
The  tone  of  the  whole  poem  is  false,  unmanly,  and 
irreligious,  for  it  teaches,  or  at  least  insinuates  the  doc- 
trine that  unhappiness  is  in  exact  proportion  to  genius, 
and  that  the  man  of  the  highest  capacity  and  the  finest 
susceptibility  is,  on  that  account,  the  greatest  sufferer. 
The  tendency  of  these  views  of  life,  commended  as 
they  are  by  such  exquisite  poetry,  is  to  discourage 
manly  effort  and  generous  self-sacrifice,  and  to  enlist 
the  imagination  in  the  service  of  the  subtle  and  seduc- 
tive passion  of  self-love.  A  being  crowned  with  all  the 
blessings  which  men  covet  and  admire  —  with  youth, 
health,  beauty,  rank,  genius,  and  fame  —  writes  four 


LORD    BYRON.  433 

cantos  of  melodious  verse  to  prove  that  he  is  the  most 
miserable  of  mortals,  and  is  in  a  perpetual  controversy 
with  his  Creator  for  having  bestowed  upon  him  the  gift 
of  life.  The  young  and  the  sensitive  imbibe  the  poison 
of  his  poetry,  but  they  miss  the  antidote  which  the 
record  of  his  life  supplies ;  for  that  shews  his  un- 
happiness  to  have  been  the  sting  of  debauch  and  the 
exhaustion  of  excess. 

This  blemish,  however,  is  less  conspicuous,  or,  at 
least,  less  offensive  in  the  fourth  canto,  because  it  is 
so  much  occupied  with  external  objects.  Byron  has 
somewhere  said  of  himself,  that  description  was  his 
forte,  and  this  immortal  canto  seems  to  justify  the 
judgment.  His  descriptions  of  natural  scenery,  and  of 
works  in  sculpture  and  architecture  —  for  of  painting 
he  does  not  speak  at  all  —  are  perfect  in  their  way ; 
not  minute  or  detailed,  and  rather  expressions  of  emo- 
tion than  actual  delineations,  but  remarkable  above  all 
for  their  intense  vitality.  Into  every  thing  that  he  looks 
upon  he  puts  a  heart  and  a  pulse  of  life.  Under  his 
touch,  the  woods,  the  waters,  and  the  mute  forms  of  art 
glow  with  human  feeling,  and  are  linked  to  all  the 
moods  of  the  soul  by  vital  chords  of  sympathy.  The 
power  and  distinctness  with  which  he  paints  the  im- 
pressions produced  by  sculpture  are  the  more  striking, 
because  his  love  of  art  could  not  have  been  a  very 
strong  or  deep  feeling.  Of  this  we  want  no  better 
proof,  than  the  fact,  that  out  of  six  years  in  Italy  he 
gave  only  two  or  three  days  to  Florence,  and  no  more 
than  two  weeks  to  Rome.  It  may  be  doubted  whether 
he  ever  saw  the  Venus  de  Medici,  the  Apollo  Belvidere, 
or  the  Dying  Gladiator,  more  than  once. 

VOL.  n.  28 


434  LORD    BYRON. 

From  the  moment  that  the  feet  of  the  pilgrim  press 
the  soil  of  Home,  his  strain  of  thought  and  feeling  be- 
comes most  noble  and  elevated  ;  though  a  severe  taste 
might  pronounce  it  to  be  sometimes  a  little  overstrained. 
The  beauty  and  originality  of  this  part  of  the  canto  are 
a  striking  illustration  of  the  inexhaustible  fertility  of 
genius.  Chateaubriand  and  Madame  de  Stael  had  ap- 
parently exhausted  Rome  in  its  sentimental  or  imagin- 
ative aspect,  but  Byron  moves  over  the  oft-trodden  field 
as  a  reaper,  and  not  a  gleaner,  and  returns  with  the 
rich  harvests  of  a  virgin  soil.  The  stanzas  in  which 
the  general  impression  made  by  Rome  and  its  ruins  is 
delineated  are  as  excellent  as  those  in  which  particular 
objects  of  interest  are  described.  '  The  Niobe  of  Na- 
tions '  is  one  of  those  magical  expressions  which  act 
upon  the  mind  like  the  solution  of  a  riddle.  After  the 
first  thrill  of  pleasure  and  surprise  is  over,  it  seems  so 
•obvious  that  we  wonder  that  it  never  was  said  before. 
The  lines  occasionally  thrown  in,  which  contain  expres- 
sions of  personal  feeling,  are  not  quite  worthy  of  their 
proximity  ;  for,  besides  that  their  tone  is  false,  there 
is  often  a  cloudy  indistinctness  in  their  phraseology 
through  which  the  meaning  is  but  dimly  seen.  The 
magnificent  stanzas  in  which  he  sets  before  us  the 
Apollo,  the  Laocoon,  and,  above  all,  the  Dying  Gladia- 
tor, are  so  well  known,  and  have  so  passed  into  the 
memory  and  heart  of  all  who  speak  the  English  tongue, 
that  they  need  as  little  to  be  praised  as  to  be  quoted. 
The  description  of  St.  Peter's  is  of  equal  excellence. 
The  skill  with  which  all  the  resources  of  language  are 
put  in  requisition,  and  the  best  words  set  in  the  best 
places,  is  not  more  conspicuous  than  the  perfect  fidelity 


LORD  BYRON.  435 

with  which  the  entire  impression  is  conveyed.  The 
ease  and  grace  with  which  he  moves  under  the  re- 
straints of  the  difficult  and  complicated  Spenserian 
stanza  make  this  passage,  apart  from  its  subject,  valu- 
able as  a  rhetorical  study  of  the  capacities  of  the 
English  tongue. 

The  scenery  of  the  Alban  and  Sabine  hills,  and  the 
peculiar  aspect  of  the  Campagna,  are  fruitful  in  themes 
on  which  the  descriptive  genius  of  the  noble  poet  would 
assuredly  have  paused  and  lingered,  had  his  residence 
in  Rome  been  prolonged.  What  he  might  have  gath- 
ered in  these  fields  for  our  admiration,  may  be  inferred 
from  the  exquisite  image  which  the  view  of  Mount 
Soracte  suggests  to  him  — 


from  out  the  plain 


Heaves  like  a  long-swept  wave  about  to  break, 
And  on  the  curl  hangs  pausing  ' . 

Nothirig  can  surpass  the  beauty  and  accuracy  of  this 
comparison.  It  is  an  absolute  flash  of  inspiration,  like 
that  which  darts  from  the  brow  of  the  Dying  Gladiator, 
and  shews  us  the  rude  hut  by  the  Danube's  side  and  the 
young  barbarians  at  play.  Often  as  I  have  looked  upon 
Mount  Soracte,  I  never  did  so  without  a  fresh  sense  of 
the  charm  of  this  image,  nor  without  a  sort  of  personal 
acknowledgment  to  the  genius  which  had  thrown  a  new 
grace  around  an  object  in  itself  so  striking. 

It  is  a  little  remarkable  that  Byron,  who  lived  so  long 
in  Italy,  should  have  seen,  comparatively  speaking,  so 
little  of  it.  He  was  only  about  a  fortnight  in  Rome ; 
and  Naples,  the  scenery  of  which  seems  so  much  in 
unison  with  his  passionate  and  volcanic  genius,  lie 


LOUD     BYRON. 

never  saw  at  all.  He  did  little  more  than  pass  through 
Florence.  Nor  does  he  appear  to  have  taken  any  pains 
to  explore  the  grand  and  beautiful  scenery  of  Italy>and 
to  refresh  his  worn  faculties  by  that  communion  with 
nature  of  which  he  writes  in  such 'glowing  terms.  In- 
deed, it  may  be  well  doubted  whether  Byron  had,  in 
his  heart  of  hearts,  a  genuine  love  of  nature,  and 
whether  the  predominant  impulse  which  drew  him  to  a 
noble  landscape,  were  not  its  capacity  of  being  repro- 
duced in  verse.  His  movements  and  residences,  while 
in  Italy,  seem  to  have  been  mainly  regulated  by  his 
relations  to  women,*  which,  with  the  pursuit  of  literary 
fame,  occupied  his  whole  time  and  thoughts,  till,  the 
trumpet-call  of  the  Greek  revolution  roused  him  to  a 
transient  gleam  of  self-sacrificing  action. t 

*  In  a  letter  to  Moore,  dated  Rome,  May  9,  1317,  he  says, 
'  I  have  not  been  here  long  enough  to  affect  it  as  a  residence, 
and  I  must  go  back  to  Lombardy,  because  I  am  wretched  at 
being  away  from  Marianna.'  He  had  then  been  in  Rome  about 
twelve  days,  and  left  it  a  few  days  after. 

f  Some  of  my  readers  may  be  startled  at  the  statement  in  the 
text,  that  Byron,  whose  descriptions  of  scenery,  sculpture,  and 
architecture  they  have  read  with  so  much  delight,  was  not  a 
genuine  lover  either  of  nature  or  of  art.  But  none  but  the  very 
young  need  be  told  that  there  is  no  necessary  connection  be- 
tween imagination  and  sensibility,  and  that  emotions  may  be 
admirably  painted  which  are  not  habitually  felt.  That  Words- 
worth and  Cowper  were  lovers  of  nature  —  that  Goethe  was  a 
lover  of  art  —  are  proved  by  their  lives  as  well  as  their  writings. 
But  I  submit  that  the  facts  of  Byron's  life  shew  no  more  than 
this,  that  he  felt  a  beautiful  scene  or  a  beautiful  statue  when 
brought  before  them,  but  that  he  never  took  any  pains,  or  went 
out  of  his  way,  to  procure  either  class  of  satisfactions.  There 
is  another  piece  of  evidence  on  the  question  of  his  love  of 


ROGERS.  437 


ROGERS. 

The  'Italy'  of  Rogers  resembles  'Chilcle  Harold' 
as  little  as  possible,  considering  that  they  are  both 
poetical  pictures  of  the  same  country.  Byron,  at 
thirty,  had  exhausted  life ;  but  Rogers,  at  sixty,  had  lost 
nothing  beyond  that  which  time  must  of  necessity  take. 
Such  is  the  wisdom  of  renunciation  !  such  is  the  folly 
of  eating  seed-corn  instead  of  sowing  it !  After  the 
passionate  melancholy  and  intense  ideality  of '  Childe 
Harold,'  the  tone  of  '  Italy '  will  seem,  especially  to 
to  the  young,  languid,  and  its  colors  faint ;  but  the 
latter  poem  wears  well  to  the  end.  Men  who  have 
lived  through  the  Byron  age,  in  their  own  lives,  are  a 
little  shy  of  the  poetry  which  is  so  strongly  associated 
with  past  conflicts  and  spent  storms ;  but  the  mellow 
wisdom,  the  genial  sympathy,  the  graceful  pictures, 
and  the  perfect  taste  of  Rogers  are  not  fully  appre- 
ciated till  our  shadows  have  begun  to  lengthen.  It  is, 
indeed,  a  delightful  poem ;  a  work  of  such  perfect 
art  that  the  art  is  nowhere  seen ;  with  just  the  right 
amount  of  personal  feeling ;  with  a  warm  sense  of  all 
that  is  attractive  to  a  poet  and  a  scholar  in  Italy,  and  a 

nature,  which  seems  to  me  of  much  weight.  His  usual  habit 
was  to  rise  between  one  and  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  to  sit  up 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  night.  No  true  lover  of  nature 
ever  falls  into  ways  of  life  like  these,  or  consents  to  lose  the 
beauty  and  freshness  of  the  morning  hours.  Byron  felt  female 
beauty  as  few  men  have  ever  done ;  and  his  descriptions  of 
female  beauty  have  a  sincerity,  a  vitality,  and  a  heartiness, 
which  I  do  not  find  in  his  descriptions  of  nature,  brilliant  as 
these  are. 


438  ROGERS. 

generous  judgment  of  all  that  is  distasteful  to  an  Eng- 
lishman and  a  Protestant ;  and  full  of  charming  pictures 
which  seem  to  demand  those  exquisite  illustrations  of 
Stothard  and  Turner,  with  which  they  are  so  insepara- 
bly united  in  our  minds.  All  his  sketches  of  Venice 
are  admirable  —  bringing  back  the  wonders  of  that 
unique  city  as  freshly  as  the  scenery  of  a  last  night's 
play :  the  few  words  in  which  he  describes  the  works 
of  Michael  Angelo  in  the  Medicean  Chapel  at  Florence 
are  worthy  of  the  subject ;  and  how  well  is  told  the  sad 
story  of  poor  Ginevra,  and  the  mouldering  chest,  and 
the  portrait  that  was  painted  in  dream-land,  and  which 
has  so  troubled  the  ciceroni  of  Modena,  who  hear  all 
England  asking  for  a  picture  which  nobody  ever  saw  ! 
The  temperate  wisdom  of  the  poet's  life  has  passed 
into  his  book,  and  the  style  proves  the  worth  of  renun- 
ciation. Nothing  is  overdone  or  overstated  ;  the  tempta- 
tion to  over-dress  and  over-ornament  is  always  resisted; 
his  words  are  choice,  but  plain  and  few ;  the  tone  of 
sentiment  is  healthy;  fine  writing  never  offends  us  with 
its  paste  jewels ;  and  whether  writing  prose  or  verse 
(for  a  portion  of  the  work  is  in  prose)  the  author  knows 
both  what  to  blot  and  when  to  stop.  It  does  not  stir 
the  blood,  or  enchain  the  attention,  at  first,  but  we  re- 
cur to  it  again  and  again ;  it  is  not  demanded  at  one 
time  and  rejected  at  another,  but  it  suits  our  varying 
moods  of  mind  ;  its  hold  upon  us  is  enduring  because 
its  claims  are  founded  on  good  sense,  good  taste,  and 
good  feeling. 


MISS   EATON JOHN    BELL.  43J) 

MISS     EATON JOHN    BELL WILLIAM     STEWART 

ROSE. 

Miss  Eaton's  '  Rome  in  the  Ninteenth  Century,'  is. 
the  work  of  a  clever  and  very  well  informed  woman, 
who  passed  several  months  in  Rome  and  its  neighbor- 
hood in  1817  and  1818.  It  contains  the  results  of  muck 
careful  research,  honorable  to  her  industry  and  perse- 
verance. The  information  it  gives  upon  the  antiquities,, 
the  ruins,  and  the  monuments  of  Rome,,  is  ample  and 
correct ;  and  it  has  a  full  and  good  account  of  the  sights- 
and  ceremonies  of  Holy  Week.  Her  strictures  upon 
society  and  manners  are  shrewd  and  sharp,  but  some- 
what tinged  with  Anglican  prejudice.  The  style  is. 
animated  and  lively,  and  the  whole  air  of  the  book 
shews  a  healthy  mind  aided  by  the  energies  of  a 
healthy  body.  Before  the  days  of  Murray,  there  was 
no  better  guide-book  in  English  to  the  sights  of  Rome, 
and  it  will  still  be  found  an  agreeable  and  instructive 
companion  both  there  and  at  home,  after  leaving  it. 

Bell's  '  Observations  on  Italy '  are  brief  and  frag- 
mentary, but  excellent  In  their  way.  The  author 
was  a  distinguished  anatomist;  and  a  scholar  and  man 
of  taste,  besides.  His  remarks  on  art,  sculpture  es- 
pecially, have  a  peculiar  value  from  the  profound 
professional  knowledge  on  which  they  rest.  His  criti- 
cisms on  the  statues  of  antiquity  are  as  interesting  as 
they  are  instructive.  His  sense  of  their  beauty  is  not 
the  least  impaired  by  his  technical  skill  and  keen  ap- 
preciation of  scientific  details.  His  admiration  does 
not-languish  in  the  air  of  knowledge.  Whatever  be  the 
subject  on  which  he  writes,  his  tone  is  always  that  of 
an  amiable,  cultivated,  and  right-minded  man. 


440  WILLIAM    STEWART    ROSE. 

Rose's  '  Letters  from  the  North  of  Italy,'  are  the 
work  of  an  accomplished  Italian  scholar.*  He  was 
familiar  not  only  with  the  literature  of  Italy,  but 
with  the  character,  habits,  and  manners  of  the  people. 
It  has  much  curious  information  upon  a  part  of  the 
country  which  most  travellers  hurry  rapidly  over, 
and  upon  subjects  not  usually  treated,  in  books  of 
travels.  His  account  of  Venice,  its  society,  its  pecu- 
liarities, its  literature,  is  full  and  interesting ;  and  has 
that  easy  and  natural  flow  which  is  the  result  of 
thorough  knowledge.  Like  most  Englishmen,  he 
paints  the  people,  especially  of  Lombardy,  in  rather 
dark  colors.  He  was  an  invalid  in  pursuit  of  health  ; 
a  point  of  view  not  favorable  to  kindly  judgments. 

HANS    CHRISTIAN    ANDERSEN. 

The  powerful  attraction  exerted  by  Italy  over  men 
of  imaginative  temperament,  born  in  the  North,  would 
seem  to  justify  the  theory  that  all  knowledge  is  but 
recognition ;  and  that  these  ardent  Scandinavians,  who 
feel  and  express  the  spirit  of  the  country  more  than 
its  own  people,  were  natives  of  some  pre-adamite  Italy, 
and  find  themselves  in  their  first  home  only  when  south 
of  the  Alps.  For  the  last  hundred  years  there  have 
always  been  men  of  northern  blood  living  in  Rome, 
and  so  strongly  attached  to  it  that  a  command  to  return 
to  their  place  of  birth  would  be  received  like  a  sen- 
tence of  banishment.  The  gray  skies  and  languid 
colors  of  the  North,  its  monotonous  vegetation,  its  dark, 

*  He  translated  the  '  Orlando  Furioso '  of  Ariosto  into  Eng- 
lish verse.  It  is  said  to  be  a  spirited  and  truthful  version. 


HANS    CHRISTIAN    ANDERSEN.  441 

wintry  days,  its  summer  twilights  of  pale  silver,  its 
sombre  forests,  its  contracted  horizons,  oppress  the  eye 
and  mind  which  have  been  long  accustomed  to  the 
splendors  and  contrasts  of  Italian  scenery,  to  its  atmos- 
phere of  gold,  purple,  and  violet,  to  the  regular  outline 
of  Italian  architecture,  and  to  the  expressive  forms 
and  glowing  faces  of  Italian  men  and  women.  When 
Wine kelmann,  after  living  twelve  years  in  Rome,  went 
back  to  visit  his  native  country,  the  narrow  valleys  and 
sharp-roofed  cottages  of  the  Tyrol  were  a  perpetual 
discord  to  his  eye ;  and  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  home- 
sickness for  Italy,  which  weighed  upon  his  spirits  and 
his  health,  until  a  determination  to  return  restored  him 
to  cheerfulness  and  activity. 

Hans  Christian  Andersen,  a  native  of  Denmark,  has 
travelled  in  Italy,  but  never  resided  there  for  any  length 
of  time ;  but  no  one  has  ever  made  better  use  of  his 
opportunities  for  studying  and  observing  the  country. 
His  is  a  northern  imagination  —  dreamy,  spiritual,  and 
fantastic  —  without  the  passion  and  intensity  which, 
in  the  South,  usually  accompany  poetical  genius  like 
his.  It  would  be  difficult  for  any  Italian  to  produce  a 
book  so  redolent  of  Italy  as  '  The  Improvisatore  ; '  be- 
cause he  would  not  feel,  to  the  same  extent  as  a  sus- 
ceptible stranger,  the  peculiar  character  of  objects  and 
scenes  which  to  him  had  become  dulled  by  long  famil- 
iarity To  Andersen  —  a  young  man  of  vivid  fancy, 
fine  senses,  and  cordial  sympathies,  who  had  been 
reared  in  the  blessed  air  of  renunciation  —  every  thing 
was  a  delight :  upon  every  shape  and  every  scene 
there  hung  a  brightness  like  that  of  the  dew  of  the  first 
morning  in  Eden.  He  was  like  the  lad  in  Miss  Edge- 


442  HANS    CHRISTIAN    ANDERSEN. 

worth's  story,  who  had  lived  all  his  life  in  a  mine,  to 
whom  weeds  were  glories,  and  thistles,  revelations. 
No  book  brings  back  the  externals  of  Italy  more  dis- 
tinctly and  vividly  to  the  eye  of  the  mind  than  this 
novel  of  the  Danish  poet's.  Its  chief  literary  merit 
resides  in  its  descriptions,  which  are  correct  in  sub- 
stance and  animated  with  the  most  sincere  poetical 
enthusiasm.  Every  thing  which  an  observant  traveller 
may  have  noted  as  characteristic  of  Italy,  and  not 
elsewhere  found,  will  be  discovered  anew  in  these 
animated  pages.  Andersen  has  a  large  share  of  that 
happy  faculty  which  may  be  called  pictorial  memory 
—  the  power  of  preserving,  in  all  their  original  fresh- 
ness, the  impressions  made  by  the  sight  upon  the  mind. 
In  his  thoughts,  Italian  pictures  dwell  like  flowers  in  a 
conservatory,  and  not  like  dried  plants  in  an  herba- 
rium. With  what  fidelity,  for  instance,  he  paints  the 
characteristic  features  of  Rome  —  its  fountains,  its 
architecture,  its  pine%  and  cypresses,  its  shops  gar- 
nished with  white  buffalo  cheeses,  like  ostrich  eggs, 
the  red  lamps  burning  before  the  pictures  of  the  Ma- 
donna, the  flickering  fires  of  the  chestnut-pans  in  the 
winter  evenings,  and  the  yellow  moon  reflected  in  the 
yellow  Tiber !  The  Campagna,  too,  is  not  less  faith- 
fully delineated,  with  its  decayed  tombs,  its  purple 
mountains,  its  golden  clouds,  its  tropical  rain-storms, 
and  its  fierce  summer  heats,  when  the  deadly  sirocco 
blows  and  the  red -eyed  buffaloes  chase  each  other 
with  arrowy  speed,  in  great  circles,  upon  the  parched 
soil.  Naples  and  its  neighborhood,  Pompeii,  Vesuvius, 
Paestum,  and  the  blue  grotto  are  also  described  with 
the  same  truth  and  spirit.  The  story  is  improbable, 


MRS.    KEMBLE.  443 

the  characters  are  not  drawn  with  a  very  firm  or  dis- 
criminating touch,  and  the  sentiment  is  sometimes  a 
little  lackadaisical ;  but  all  who  love  Italy,  and  wish  to 
have  it  recalled  to  their  thoughts,  will  pardon  these 
defects  in  consideration  of  its  pictures  and  its  descrip- 
tions, which  commend  themselves  to  the  memory  by 
their  truth,  and  to  the  imagination  by  their  beauty. 

MRS.    KEMBLE. 

Mrs.  Kemble's  'Year  of  Consolation'  contains  the 
impressions  of  a  year  spent  in  Rome  and  its  neighbor- 
hood in  1846.  It  is  in  many  respects  a  remarkable 
book,  with  energetic  expressions  of  personal  feeling,  a 
masculine  grasp  of  thought,  and  a  feminine  sharpness 
of  observation.  Her  judgments  in  art  are  fearlessly 
uttered,  sometimes  striking,  but  not  always  sound. 
Her  severe  strictures  upon  the  character  of  the  people 
betray  the  exaggeration  both  of  temperament  and  of 
sex.  Her  energy  is  not  always  under  the  control  of 
perfect  taste,  and  sometimes  degenerates  into  what  — 
were  she  not  a  woman  —  we  should  call  coarseness. 
This  occasional  blemish  doubtless  springs  from  the  dis- 
position of  vehement  natures  like  hers,  to  seek  right  in 
a  point  the  most  remote  from  wrong  :  her  protest 
against  the  silly  prudery  so  common  among  American 
women,  taking  the  form  of  extreme  plainness  of  speech 
and  a  hardy  grappling  with  subjects  which  feminine 
pens  usually  avoid,  or  at  least  touch  upon  very  lightly. 
The  great  merit  of  the  work  consists  in  the  admirable 
descriptions  of  scenery  and  nature  which  it  contains. 
Her  sense  of  beauty  —  of  the  beauty  of  color,  espe- 


444  MRS.    KEMBLE. 

cially  —  is  very  keen  ;  and  in  conveying  impressions 
to  her  reader,  she  uses  language  with  uncommon  skill. 
A  single  expression,  or  even  word,  dashed  with  an  ap- 
parently careless  hand  upon  the  canvas,  produces  a  fine 
effect.  She  speaks  of  '  a  sulky-looking  mountain,'  of 
'  the  unhesitating  white  '  of  Italian  daisies  ;  and,  again, 
of  '  wide-eyed  daisies,'  of  '  a  rusty  donkey '  —  a  very 
happy,  though  very  obvious  epithet  —  and  of  'snow- 
white  drifts  of  hawthorn.'  Her  illustrations  have 
sometimes  the  quaintness  of  Cowley ;  as  when  she 
compares  the  arches  of  an  aqueduct  to  '  the  vertebrae 
of  some  great  serpent,  whose  marrow  was  the  living 
water  of  which  Rome  drank  for  centuries  ; '  or  the  sky, 
seen  through  a  window  of  the  ruined  Villa  Mondragone, 
to  '  a  sparkling  blue  eye  through  the  sockets  of  a 
skeleton.' 

Her  account  of  a  summer  and  autumn  passed  at 
Frascati,  is  written  with  great  animation  and  genuine 
poetical  feeling  —  especially  her  sketches  of  the  wild 
solitudes  and  woodland  regions  of  the  Alban  Mount. 
In  the  shadow  of  those  grand  old  oaks  and  chestnuts, 
her  impatient  spirit,  tried  alike  by  its  own  vehemence 
and  by  unhappy  circumstances,  found  that  peace  which 
she  so  often  missed  in  the  struggles  and  relations  of 
social  life.  Mountain  and  forest  scenery  she  paints 
with  accuracy  as  well  as  enthusiasm  :  she  both  sees 
and  feels.  But,  above  all,  her  book  is  remarkable  for 
the  vivid  truth  of  her  descriptions  of  the  Campagna  ; 
that  is,  of  the  Campagna  as  an  object  of  sight.  She 
does  not  moralize  or  sentimentalize  over  it  like  Cha- 
teaubriand ;  but  no  traveller  has  ever  felt  so  deeply  or 
reproduced  so  glowingly  the  impressions  which  the 


MRS.    KEMBLE.  445 

landscape  is  calculated  to  make  upon  a  finely  organ- 
ized nature.  Its  outlines,  its  colors,  its  ruins,  its 
living  fqrms,  its  flowers  —  all  reappear  in  her  sparkling 
pages ;  idealized,  and  yet  faithfully  represented.  It 
will  not  be  easy  to  find  a  more  brilliant  piece  of  descrip- 
tion than  is  contained  in  the  few  pages  headed  '  Rides 
through  the  Campagna.'  Who  that  has  been  over  the 
same  ground  will  not  recognize  the  truth  as  well  as  the 
beauty  of  pictures  like  these  ? 

'  Small  valleys  open  into  each  other  between  these  swel- 
lings, all  golden  with  buttercups,  or  powdered,  as  with  the 
new-fallen  snow,  with  daisies  ;  gradually  these  gentle  emi- 
nences rise  into  higher  mounds  with  rocky,  precipitous  sides 
and  cliffs,  and  rugged  walls  of  warm  yellow-colored  earth 
or  rock,  with  black  mouths  opening  into  them,  half-curtained 
with  long  tangled  tresses  of  wild  briar  and  ivy,  and  crested 
with  gold  fringes  of  broom  and  gorse,  and  blue-black  tufts  of 
feathery  verdure.  At  a  distance,  where  the  plain  opens 
again  before  us,  clumps  of  wood,  of  insignificant  appearance, 
dot  the  level  ground  ;  on  nearer  approach,  they  lose,  the 
dwarf,  stunted  look  which  the  wide  field  on  which  they  stand 
tends  to  give  them,  and  presently  we  ride  slowly  between 
the  talon-like  roots,  and  under  the  twisted,  gnarled  boughs 
of  cork  and  ilex  trees,  warped  into  fantastic  growth  by  the 
sweeping  of  the  winds,  and  covering  with  their  dusky  foliage 
a  wild  carpet  of  underbrush,  all  strewed  with  flowers — vio- 
lets, purple  hyacinths,  with  their  honey-sweet  smell  and 
dark-blue  blossoms,  white  spires  of  delicate  heath,  the  clear 
azure  stars  of  the  periwinkle  and  the  tall  flower-fretted  stalks 
of  the  silver-rod  —  asphodel ;  these,  woven  into  one  cloak  of 
beauty,  spread  themselves  over  the  ragged  sides  and  rough 
gullies  of  these  patches  of  forest,  and  every  now  and  then  we 
reach  an  eminence  from  which  a  fine  dark  sea  of  hoary  wood- 
land rolls  down  into  the  neighboring  hollows,  and  crests  the 
rounded  promontories  all  around  us.' 


446  SPALDING. 

There  are  several  pieces  of  poetry  scattered  through 
the  book,  some  of  them  containing  brilliant  descrip- 
tions, and  others  strongly  marked  by  personal  feeling. 
They  all  shew  much  power  of  language,  and  many  t>f 
them  are  of  high  merit. 

'  Dim  faces  growing  pale  in  distant  lands, 
Departing  feet,  and  slowly  severing  hands,' 

is  a  couplet  of  which  any  living  poet  might  be  proud. 


SPALDING MURRAY. 

Spalding's  '  Italy  and  the  Italian  Islands '  forms  a 
part  of  the  Edinburgh  Cabinet  Library.  It  is  a  truly 
admirable  work,  and  from  its  being  supposed  to  be 
merely  a  compilation,  has  not  secured  to  its  learned 
and  accomplished  author  the  literary  reputation  to 
which  he  is  fairly  entitled.  It  is  a  compilation,  it  is 
true  ;  but  executed  in  a  manner  which  gives  it  a  right 
to  wear  the  honors  of  an  original  work.  Its  range  is 
very  wide,  embracing  ancient  and  modern  Italian  his- 
tory ;  Roman  and  Italian  literature  ;  the  progress  of 
art ;  and  the  present  social  and  material  condition  of 
the  peninsula.  All  this  is  done  in  a  thorough  and 
scholarlike  manner ;  the  results  of  a  very  extensive 
course  of  reading  are  presented  in  a  systematic  form 
and  in  a  clear  and  easy  style  ;  and  the  author's  judg- 
ments, both  of  books  and  men,  are  sound,  generous  and 
discriminating.  Mr.  Spalding  has  lived  in  Italy,  and  his 
book  shews  a  sincere  interest  in  the  country  and  its 
people.  He  has  made  use  of  German  and  Italian  au- 
thorities, and  in  his  last  volume,  especially,  which  is 


MURRAY.  447 

devoted  to  the  recent  history  and  present  condition  of 
Italy,  will  be  found  a  great  deal  of  valuable  information 
hardly  to  be  met  with  in  any  other  English  work. 

It  would  be  hardly  fair  to  conclude  a  sketch,  how- 
ever imperfect,  of  writers  upon  Italy  and  travellers  in 
Italy,  without  a  word  of  commendation  and  gratitude  to 
the  two  guide-books  of  Murray,  the  '  Hand-book  for 
Northern  Italy '  and  the  '  Hand-book  for  Central  Italy 
and  Rome.'  Their  merits  are  of  the  highest  order,  and  it 
is  a  privilege  to  have  visited  Italy  under  such  excellent 
guidance.  Like  alt  books  which  are  constantly  in  the 
hand,  they  are  exposed  to  the  most  minute  and  search- 
ing criticism  ;  but  they  bear  it  well.  I  very  rarely 
found  occasion  to  correct  a  statement,  or  dissent  from 
an  opinion.  They  are  compiled  with  so  much  taste, 
learning,  and  judgment,  and  have  so  many  well-chosen 
quotations  in  prose  and  verse,  that  they  are  not  merely 
useful  guides  but  entertaining  companions.  I  have 
constantly  had  recourse  to  them  in  the  preparation  of 
these  volumes,  to  revive  my  fading  recollections,  and 
to  procure  names,  dates,  and  statistics  ;  and  I  cheer- 
fully make  an  acknowledgment  commensurate  with  my 
obligations.* 

*  Murray's  Guide-books  now  cover  nearly  the  whole  of  the 
continent,  and  he  is  one  of  the  great  powers  of  Europe.  Since 
Napoleon,  no  man's  empire  has  been  so  wide.  From  St. 
Petersburg  to  Seville,  from  Ostend  to  Constantinople,  there  is 
not  an  innkeeper  who  does  not  turn  pale  at  the  name  of  Murray. 
An  instance  of  this  came  to  my  knowledge.  In  the  Hand- 
book for  Switzerland,  the  Hotel  Faucon  at  Berne  had  been 
called  'one  of  the  best  inns  in  Switzerland,'  but  in  1847  a  new 
edition  appeared  with  the  words  of  praise  omitted  and  the 
ominous  sentence  '  fallen  off'  substituted.  An  English  gen- 


448  MURRAY. 

tleman  of  my  acquaintance  shewed  this  new  judgment  to  the 
keeper  of  the  inn,  who  had  not  before  seen  it.  He  described 
the  poor  man's  emotion  as  at  once  ludicrous  and  pitiable.  He 
looked  and  acted  as  if  he  had  received  an  arrow  in  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


CONCLUDING    REMARKS. 

ALL  persons  who  travel  at  all  visit  Italy.  No  other 
country  combines  so  many  attractions,  or  speaks  with 
so  many  different  voices  of  invitation.  Not  to  be 
drawn  to  Italy,  not  to  be  grateful  for  having  seen  it, 
not  to  remember  it  with  vivid  interest  —  is  to  be  indif- 
ferent to  every  thing  that  took  place  before  we  our- 
selves were  born.  No  other  country  has  been  so 
fruitful  in  great  men :  no  one  has  left  so  large  a  legacy 
to  the  mind  of  to-day :  no  one  has  passed  through  such 
historical  changes :  no  one  presents  such  variety  of 
interests.  Ancient  and  mediaeval  Italy,  together,  com- 
bine all  that  is  most  marked  and  characteristic  in  the 
national  life  and  intellectual  development  of  England 
and  of  Greece.  The  paths  of  the  statesman,  the 
scholar,  the  Christian  pilgrim,  and  the  artist,  all  meet 
upon  her  soil  as  a  focal  point  of  attraction. 

Italy  is  a  country  in  which  the  traveller  encounters 
much  annoyance  and  discomfort :  his  patience  is  often 
tried,  and  his  moral  sense  is  sometimes  shocked  ;  but 
when  we  look  upon  her  shore  for  the  last  time,  none  of 
these  things  rise  up  in  judgment  against  her.  As  in 
recalling  the  dead  we  think  only  of  their  virtues,  so  in 

VOL.  n.  29 


450  CONCLUDING    REMARKS. 

•» 

taking  leave  of  a  country  in  which  we  have  found  in- 
struction and  delight,  we  remember  only  what  we  have 
learned  and  enjoyed.  The  rainy  days,  the  grasping 
innkeepers,  the  mendacious  vetterini,  the  dinners  that 
could  not  be  eaten,  the  beds  that  murdered  sleep  — 
all  these,  as  we  look  back  upon  them,  only  serve  as 
shadows  in  a  picture  to  bring  out  the  lights  in  stronger 
contrast.  We  part  in  kindness :  on  the  dial  of  memo- 
ry only  the  hours  of  sunshine  are  noted. 

There  is  a  peculiar  charm  about  Italy  which  corres- 
ponds to  the  primitive  meaning  of  that  perverted  word, 
sentimental  —  a  charm  made  up  of  beauty  and  misfor- 
tune. In  literature,  characters  like  the  Master  of  Ra- 
venswood,  and  Mowbray  in  '  St.  Ronan's  Well '  —  the 
representatives  of  decayed  families  —  if  tolerably  well 
drawn,  are  sure  to  awaken  interest.  The  same  feel- 
ing extends  to  declining  nations.  In  prosperous  and 
progressive  countries  we  find  elements  which  quicken 
the  faculties  of  observation  and  judgment,  commend 
themselves  to  the  moral  sense,  and  gratify  the  benevo- 
lent affections;  but  Italy  is  more  fruitful  in  influences 
which  kindle  the  imagination  and  touch  the  sensibili- 
ties. The  smiling  fertility  of  Belgium  is  not  so  inter- 
esting as  the  dreary  desolation  of  the  Campagna.  The 
twilight  shadows  of  Rome  are  more  touching  and 
pensive  than  the  morning  beams  of  our  land  of  prom- 
ise. It  is  but  a  variation  of  the  same  thought  to  say, 
that  the  sky,  the  scenery,  the  climate,  the  coast  of 
Italy,  leave  impressions  of  feminine  softness  and  femi- 
nine beauty.  We  remember  England  or  Germany  as 
we  remember  a  valued  and  esteemed  friend ;  but  the 
image  of  Italy  dwells  in  our  hearts  like  that  of  a 
woman  whom  we  have  loved. 


CONCLUDING    REMARKS.  451 

The  interest  awakened  by  Italy  is  felt  with  peculiar 
force  by  our  countrymen,  because  Italy  is  so  rich  in 
those  elements  which  are  most  powerful  in  drawing  a 
cultivated  American  to  Europe,  and  because  it  offers 
such  strong  contrasts  to  what  is  most  familiar  to  us. 
The  mind  of  man  craves  to  look  after  as  well  as  be- 
fore :  it  needs  for  its  full  development  a  past  as  well 
as  a  future.  Our  own  country  supplies  but  one  of 
these  wants :  the  imagination  craves  a  more  dim  out- 
line than  the  fresh  youth  of  our  land  can  supply :  we 
mingle  our  sympathies  with  the  distant  experiences  of 
other  lands.  Thus,  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  our 
reading  is  our  eagerness  to  exchange  thought  for  sight, 
and  the  cold  page  for  the  living  forms.  No  Eng- 
lishman can  comprehend  the  feeling  with  which  a 
well-informed  American  looks  for  the  first  time  upon 
Westminster  Abbey.  It  is  like  the  mountaineer's  first 
sight  of  the  sea,  or  the  seaman's  first  sight  of  the 
mountains.  It  is  to  us  not  merely  a  venerable  struc- 
ture but  a  new  revelation :  it  wakes  to  life,  and  clothes 
with  flesh,  the  dry  bones  of  history.  At  school  and  at 
college,  the  great  vision  of  Rome  broods  over  the 
mind  with  a  power  which  is  never  suspended  or  dis- 
puted :  her  great  men,  her  beautiful  legends,  her  his- 
tory, the  height  to  which  she  rose,  and  the  depth  to 
which  she  fell  —  these  make  up  one  half  of  a  student's 
ideal  world.  When  we  go  to  Italy,  we  seem  to  be 
seeing  a  drama  acted  which,  before,  we  had  only  read. 
The  Tiber,  which  so  long  flowed  through  our  dreams, 
now  flows  at  our  feet :  the  Capitol,  the  Forum,  the 
Alban  Mount,  stand  before  us  in  the  light  of  day ;  and 
the  imagination  easily  supplies  the  forms  which  are 


452  CONCLUDING   REMARKS. 

appropriate  to  the  scene  —  the  shadowy  ^Eneas,  the 
legendary  Romulus,  the  living  Cicero. 

There  is  so  little  of  movement  and  progress  in  Italy 
that  I  cannot  conceive  that  an  American  —  unless  he 
be  an  artist  —  should  wish  to  live  there.  As  we  have 
no  past,  so  Italy  seems  to  have  no  future.  There, 
humanity,  weary  with  its  long  journey,  and  faint  with 
its  protracted  struggles,  has  sunk  into  a  state  which  is 
half  slumber  and  half  despair.  She  is  the  Hagar,  as 
well  as  the  Niobe  of  nations ;  and  to  human  apprehen- 
sion nothing  but  an  angel's  voice  can  revive  her  droop- 
ing spirit — nothing  but  an  angel's  hand  can  point  out 
to  her  the  fountains  of  hope  and  strength.  The  change 
from  America  to  Italy  —  from  movement  to  repose, 
from  the  present  to  the  past,  from  hope  to  memory  — 
is  soothing  and  delightful  for  a  time ;  but  who  would 
wish  to  transplant  his  life  into  that  old  soil  ?  who  would 
wish  to  share  in  decline  and  become  a  part  of  decay  ? 
who  would  wish  to  live  in  the  midst  of  social  evils 
which  he  cannot  remedy,  and  of  abuses  which  he  can- 
not help — to  have  his  heart  perpetually  wrung  with 
misery  which  he  cannot  relieve,  and  his  indignation 
aroused  by  wrongs  which  he  cannot  right  ?  Life  is 
but  another  name  for  action ;  and  he  who  is  without 
opportunity  exists  but  does  not  live. 

The  American  does  not  see  Italy  aright  who  does 
not  find  there  fresh  cause  of  gratitude  for  having  been 
born  where  he  was,  and  who  does  not  bring  home  from 
it  a  new  sense  of  the  worth  of  labor  and  the  dignity  of 
duty.  To  have  lived  in  that  fair  land  —  to  have  been 
for  a  time  exposed  to  its  fine  influences  —  throws  upon 
all  the  future  hours  a  grace  before  unknown.  The  old 


CONCLUDING    REMARKS.  453 

books  put  on  new  attractions,  and  the  burden  of  accus- 
tomed toil  is  lightened.  A  residence  in  that  country 
enlarges  that  shadowy  realm  of  imagination  and  memo- 
ry, into  which  we  can  always  escape  when  chased  by 
troubles.  In  moments  of  weariness  and  despondency 
—  when  the  weight  of  life  is  pressing  hard  upon  us  — 
the  pictures  which  we  have  brought  from  Italy  will  rise 
up  before  us  with  restoring  power:  those  lovely  forms 
will  breathe  their  own  peace  over  the  troubled  spirit : 
the  beauty  which  is  there  stamped  upon  the  earth, 
and  expressed  in  marble  and  upon  the  canvas,  will 
glide  into  the  mind,  and  help  the  thoughts  to  rise  above 
dwarfing  cares  and  debasing  pleasures. 

The  proverb  that  he  who  would  bring  back  the  wealth 
of  the  Indies  must  first  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies,  applies  with  more  force  to  Italy  than  to  any 
other  country  on  the  globe  ;  for  Italy  has  had  two  dis- 
tinct lives,  one  ending  with  the  downfall  of  the  Roman 
empire,  and  one  beginning  with  the  new  organizations 
which  were  patched  up  out  of  the  ruins  of  that  colossal 
fabric.  Nor  is  this  remarkable  fact  all  ;  but,  as  I  have 
before  observed,  the  two  lives  are  unlike.  In  Italy,  the 
child  was  not  the  father  of  the  man :  Roman  and 
Italian  are  by  no  means  equivalent  terms.  No  human 
life  would  be  long  enough,  no  human  powers  would  be 
vigorous  enough,  to  provide  a  perfect  preparation  for 
Italy ;  for  that  would  include  a  knowledge  of  Roman 
history,  Roman  literature,  and  Roman  law  ;  of  Italian 
history  and  Italian  literature  ;  of  the  history  of  the 
Christian  Church  and  of  art  in  all  its  forms.  The  best 
faculties  and  the  amplest  opportunities  must  here  select 
and  discriminate.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  the 


454  CONCLUDING    REMARKS. 

consoling  reflection  that  every  scrap  of  knowledge 
tells  ;  the  scholar  who  has  done  no  more  than  read 
Virgil  has,  in  Italy,  a  sensible  advantage  over  him  who 
has  not.  Every  hour  spent  in  previous  preparation  for 
an  Italian  tour  brings  its  recompense  of  reward.  Let 
no  one,  therefore,  who  is  meditating  such  a  journey  be 
discouraged  by  the  amount  of  what  he  cannot  do  ;  but 
rather  take  encouragement  from  the  thought  of  how 
much  can  be  done.  In  the  evenings  of  a  single  winter, 
judiciously  and  vigorously  occupied,  the  seeds  of  many 
a  precious  harvest  can  be  sown.  The  more  learning 
the  better  ;  but  a  little  is  not  dangerous.  An  ignorant 
man  in  Italy  is  a  blind  man  in  a  picture  gallery. 

In  conclusion,  I  offer  a  word  of  advice  as  to  the  time 
for  visiting  Italy.  Most  travellers  see  it  only  in  winter ; 
but  this  is  a  mistake.  At  this  season,  the  weather  is 
often  cold  and  more  frequently  rainy  ;  the  sky  is  cov- 
ered with  a  funereal  pall  of  gray  clouds  ;  the  houses 
in  the  towns  are  damp  and  the  streets  are  muddy  ;  in 
the  country,  the  trees  are  leafless  and  the  vines  are 
mere  uncouth  coils  of  cordage  ;  and  every  where,  the 
faces  of  the  people  wear  a  mixed  expression  of  patient 
resignation  and  impatient  expectation.  It  is  only  in 
sunshine  that  the  real  life  of  Italy  comes  out ;  and  in 
its  absence,  works  of  art  —  churches,  pictures,  and 
statues  —  lose  half  their  attractions.  The  heats  of 
summer  are  said  to  be  oppressive  :  on  this  point,  I 
cannot  speak  from  experience  ;  but  the  degree  of  heat 
is  not  greater  than  we  sometimes  have  it ;  and  the  nar- 
row streets  of  the  towns  and  the  thick  walls,  spacious 
rooms,  and  stone  floors  of  the  houses,  afford  a  protec- 
tion against  it  such  as  is  unknown  with  us.  The  dis- 


CONCLUDING    REMARKS.  455 

comforts  of  a  high  temperature,  and  especially  the 
necessity  of  remaining  quiet  during  the  middle  of  the 
day,  may  well  be  submitted  to  in  consideration  of  the 
clearness  of  the  air,  the  splendor  of  the  morning  lights 
and  colors,  and  the  incomparable  beauty  of  the  nights. 
Of  spring  and  autumn  in  Italy,  I  can  speak  from  a 
brief  experience  ;  and  it  is  certainly  not  too  much  to 
say,  that  a  week  in  September  or  April  is  fairly  worth 
a  month  in  winter.  The  bulb  hardly  differs  more  from 
the  tulip  than  does  Italy  in  winter  from  Italy  in 
spring.  This  latter  season  in  that  country  is  the  spring 
which  the  poets  paint,  and  its  beauties  and  delights  are 
such  that  they  need  borrow  no  embellishments  from 
the  imagination.  Language  cannot  translate  all  that  is 
seen  and  felt  in  the  sky,  the  earth,  and  the  air.  He 
who  has  seen  Italy  only  in  winter  has  but  half  seen  it : 
he  has  seen  the  reverse  of  the  tapestry  —  a  trans- 
parency by  daylight. 


THE    END. 


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